CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN - DRYHEART

Time flew.

Memories seemed to be non-linear - a kind of return to the childhood state where everything blended into one homogenous soup of recollection, and she flitted from one thing to the next with ease. If someone asked her when something happened, the order in which events occurred, she'd be hard-pressed to come up with anything resembling a chronology. Always moving. Always tumbling down a great slope, propelled by her own furious momentum, incapable of slowing herself, let alone stopping. It was bizarre, but she could almost feel... when she was part of the inner temple, she'd found a set of routines that functioned perfectly, guiding her from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, even second to second when it came to think things she was sufficiently familiar with. And in those routines, what she used to think of as 'pointless thought' ceased entirely. She was in harmony with the world around her, and her thoughts became almost irrelevant - what did it matter if the blue lights of the inner temple reminded her of constellations in the night sky, what did it matter if the labyrinthian design of the place seemed a potent physical metaphor for the entire legal process. None of that affected the world, none of that affected her life, the thoughts drained away practically before they were finished.

She had existed in two states. First, a state where her thoughts burbled around in a meaningless stew, and did nothing, only adding to a pointless inner complexity that had no influence on the outside world, nor her behaviours. A mechanical outer surface doing as others required, and a vague inner labyrinth that was basically disconnected. Her mind an observer of her body, not controlling it. And then, a state of harmonious continual purging of thoughts, allowing the mechanisms of the body and the world beyond to flow in, to wrap around her brain and constrict, leaving nothing behind but itself. Filling her heart with clockwork, fuelling her stomach with steam, devouring coal and oil and radiating the sick burgundy glow of a theurgic engine. And in that state she'd lost years in placid contentment. Blissful infant in a labyrinth womb, sustained by legal placenta. The calm and consensual obliteration of her own ego.

Now, though... no routines. No placid non-existence. Thoughts flowed through her incessantly, the gyre of her mind was wider than it had ever been, and for once, she wasn't restraining any of it. Her thoughts and actions melded into one, instead of being separate. Some vital barrier had been broken down, and she felt... changed. The tightness around her bones never faded, the rigidity of her muscle never slackened, the sensation of being both utterly incandescent and wonderfully calm at the same time was perpetual in its intensity. No more gods sat on her back. Only momentum. Momentum, the thuggish, impetuous older brother of precedent. Precedent was slower, it was a gentle pair of manacles that dictated motion. Momentum gave no time for thought. It was like having... having a chain made of causality, of cause and effect, latched into her nostrils and dragging her onward, while a piston engine slammed into the small of her back, forcing her forwards, forwards, forwards, faster, faster, faster. It was gentle, loving, insistent, cruel, and it was all she had going for her at the moment. Most nights she just lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking, as sweat beaded over her skin despite the fierce cold. Most days she had to resist the urge to sprint everywhere, to speak in a rapid cadence, to never, ever sleep, to grow hotter and hotter until something burst, until she explored every physical and mental limit at once.

Understood what it felt like to be a blast furnace.

Memory flowed.

She allowed it to pass through her.

* * *

She'd been right about Mr. Supple. Odd, to have her hunches confirmed in that way, so quickly and without any resistance. Maybe Lyur just kept poor friends, maybe good friends would run contrary to his insane view of the world. Like he had to find people willing to lie, steal, swindle and betray to save their own skins, because that validated his idea of the crow-wind, the blustering gale of necessity that purged all shame and reserve, left nothing but an... what had he said? An 'eye for where food is, wings to get there, claws to keep it yours, beak to choke it down. Could be alive, could be one of your own kind. Doesn't matter'. He'd called this place 'cannibal country'. The Rekidans knew it as a chained animal that you either dominated or allowed to run roughshod over you, and Tal-Sar thought he'd awoken that beast by killing a bear, a forbidden, kingly animal. Tanner could... almost see what they were getting at, but she found it oddly funny that Lyur was, possibly, being sold out by someone who probably exemplified his attitudes.

He'd led her and two mutants out into the wasteland. She was... increasingly reliant on these people for her muscle. Could bring soldiers with her, but they were slow, and she was still rooting through them for potential cartel spies. Ultimately, she didn't want to have bodyguards around her who could speak her language flawlessly, because she was anticipating a conversation with Lyur. And Lyur, for how psychotic he was, still had a core of... faintly compelling charisma. If only the hypnotic kind that originated from absolute self-confidence, absolute to the point of insanity.

The shack outside the colony was... small. Feeble. The mutants rumbled to one another, and gestured vaguely at the ground, suggesting... ah. They knew the tunnel system, and were pointing out where they lay. Right under their feet. And once they guided Tanner and Mr. Supple (who was sweating up a storm) for a few minutes, they found the entrance to the tunnel, cunningly concealed, as all of them were. Tanner gripped her axe with great force, and the four soldiered on through the snow towards the low, dark, huddled shape which endured the howling winds by effectively giving way to them, sloping to let the air slide over, hunching low to avoid exposing too much profile. It was a hut that acted as a fugitive from the wind - appropriate spot for Lyur to hide. The sun above was the colour of steel, and demolished all shadows. They walked in a landscape without darkness, and around the steel sun played a vague aura of shimmering multicoloured lights, as though even the air was squirming uncomfortably under the glare.

They advanced.

A rough wind blew.

The mutants, to whom she gave the names Mr. Brewer (his stomach appeared to have adapted strangely to the presence of alcohol, and he reeked of the stuff despite showing no signs of intoxication, and the swollen organ roiled with a great mass of stuff that faintly resembled the clear spirits the nobles liked to drink, certainly smelled similar, and his muscle-swollen flesh occasionally danced with liquid tongues of blue fire that failed to burn his cloyingly damp flesh, an engine of flaming meat that refused to burn) and Ms. Starfish (her hair had become gelatinous and shapeless, a living that draping over her head and tapering to five sharp points somewhere around her knees, tasting the air, moving without reference to the wind, bristling with little green spines that resembled the tiny soft fangs she'd seen on some carnivorous plants) shuffled to her side, where they remained obediently. Their weapons were large and elegant, malformed hands held guns specially shaped for their odd digits, and their red hair (such as it was), flashed fire-like against the snow, radiating an effortless, almost unnatural vitality.

Tanner didn't knock. Just nodded to Mr. Supple, who gulped, wetted his lips with a small pink tongue, and spoke loudly.

"Lyur! You in there?"

Silence.

Tanner nodded to the mutants.

Mr. Brewer, his fist licked with heatless blue fire, slammed the door open and stepped backwards immediately, away from any gunshot that... ah. There it was.

A loud crash echoed from within the house, and Mr. Brewer fell back a little, while Ms. Starfish lunged inwards, a hiss of aggression passing lips the colour of moss, between teeth the colour of old standing stones.

Another gunshot, completely off. He wouldn't manage another.

The passion of combat was gone from this. Closer to an execution. Lyur didn't scream when the woman leapt around her, clinging close with unnaturally strong limbs, embracing him like a lover and bringing her teeth to the throbbing blood vessels that lined his thuggish neck. His face, clammy and clumsy as it always was, remained locked in an expression of focus, and nothing else. Strangely mutant-like, searching for any way out with dispassionate professionalism, no real panic entering his eyes, nor his motions, even as the woman wrapped herself tighter.

Tanner stood over him.

He blinked.

Smiled faintly, and his eyes flickered to Mr. Supple, who was remaining at a safe distance - as in, barely even inside the hut.

"Wotcher, lad."

Back to Tanner. And his tone adopted a note she didn't quite recognise.

"Got the crow-wind in you, I see."

Tanner gritted her teeth. She'd ignored Marana's objections. She could ignore Lyur's insinuations. Thus was the privilege of those with momentum.

The hut was... meagre. Dark, no lights to be seen, and the only fire which burned was a very low one that manifested only as some glowing coals, not a single tongue of flame to brighten the room. The glow of the coals only extended outwards an inch, didn't even fully illuminate the fireplace it rested within, but provided enough warmth to survive. Everywhere, the smell of damp wood swelling, of ice turning that dampness into sharp, ever-expanding spears that widened each wound. Slow digestion through the many stomachs of a ruminant animal, from spring to winter to spring to winter to spring, each one wearing it down a little further. Ruined furniture scattered around, and a sack overturned to show a pile of plundered food. He wouldn't have lasted here forever. Mutants would kill him, cold would kill him, hunger would kill him, cartel would kill him, just a matter of whoever got there first.

"Did you have a plan after this?"

Lyur's smile broadened, and his voice became downright conversational. Not sure why that annoyed her so much.

"My old employers would search the tunnels, find nothing, would inevitably start to search the surface. I know ways in and out that they don't, intended to scout around and find more. Easy enough, once you know the signs."

"So... go back and forth. Tunnels when they're looking outside, outside when they're looking in the tunnels."

She paused.

"That sounds like it would fail. And quickly. And when the mutants came, you'd be forced to come to us, whether you liked it or not."

He tried to shrug, but his immobilisation prevented him.

"Would've had time. Could've found an opportunity. Can't do that if I'm locked up at the first opportunity."

She dimly recalled his words in the labyrinth of meat and bones.

"If you had sufficient willpower, right?"

"You catch on fast."

Tanner crouched a little, staring at him.

"Why did you do all of this?"

She didn't want to ask. Not really. Lyur's mind was an enigma she didn't want to solve. Lyur had shaken her faith in the Golden Law, and now that faith was gone, completely shattered by enough acts of apostasy. But... had to ask. Had to. She had no reason to avoid it - she had no precious notions she needed to preserve from him, no preconceptions that could be shaken, and with what she was about to do, she might never get another opportunity. Lyur blinked slowly, lazily, ignoring the mutant who was primed to bite his throat out, probably contaminating him with her very presence.

He said nothing.

Tanner stared.

Waited.

Nothing happened. No explanation. No brag of 'it was fun' or 'it needed to happen' or 'because I wanted to and no-one could stop me' or 'my brain was made incorrectly and some vital switches were never flipped'. No explanation emerged from those dark, dark eyes.

Thought she was talking to an animal. Like this was his natural, unreflective function. No contamination needed, he just... never formed the things which mutation disintegrated, the instincts for cooperation, for seeing others as allies rather than enemies-waiting-to-happen or delayed-meals. Maybe he lacked... no, no, animals weren't sadistic, mutants weren't sadistic in the sense of being cruel, they just... did things in the most efficient, dispassionate fashion possible, and if suffering occurred during it, very well. A cuckoo destroyed a family of birds, killed the chicks, starved the parents, and it did it with no malice. Him... there was malice in him. Simmering like the coals in the fire over in the corner. Ms. Starfish sniffed at him, her odd hair almost slithering to paw at his coat and clothes, examining whatever she could find. She sniffed a few more times, clearly finding something, and Lyur tried to lean out of her way - to give her easier access to the inside pocket of his coat.

The mutant reached...

Plucked out a small, dark mass. Soft, not an explosive or a poison, just... a keepsake, looked like. Kept right next to his chest.

Tanner took it from the mutant, who surrendered it without any expression on her mottled face.

It...

It was a heart. A small, black, shrivelled heart, dried over the years until it was barely the size of a baby's fist. All the chambers collapsed until it seemed to have no inner space at all, just a small, tight knuckle of muscle that could serve no purpose, and with the little veins and valves coming away, it almost seemed to resemble a bizarre musical instrument, or a delicate tool used for some specific profession. Animal, maybe, could be... no, she knew. Human. The shape was unmistakeable.

"Where..."

She trailed off.

He wouldn't answer. Maybe it was a trophy from a victim. A gruesome little reminder. Maybe it was just a curiosity he'd picked up somewhere.

Maybe it was his.

"Lyur, you're under arrest for the murder of Mr. Tyer. The conspiracy to murder two others, a single father and a soldier of the colony. Potential involvement in the death of Mr. Myunhen. Attempted murder of a judge of the Golden Door. Membership of a criminal organisation. Perjury. Fleeing from the law and resisting arrest with another attempted murder."

She swallowed, realising she hadn't put the heart down. Her own body's warmth transmitted to it, as did the moisture of her palms, and it almost felt like she was slowly resurrecting it - like she could look down and see tiny beads of blood along the black surface, drawn out from whatever chambers still remained, clots unwinding and spilling their fruits to the world...

"And the murder of the governor of the colony."

Lyur blinked.

Looked at the mutants.

And a smile spread across his entire face.

It almost looked proud.

He said nothing as they picked him up. He said nothing as they bound his wrists. He said nothing as they took him across the plains to the colony. Leaving behind a small shack. Tanner left the door open, and as she walked, she tilted her head and saw the snow rushing inside through the gap. Allowing the world to digest the place from the inside and the outside simultaneously.

One good storm, and there'd be nothing left of the place.

One good execution, and there'd be nothing left of its occupier.

* * *

"Of course, you'll need to kill him."

Vyuli was in her room.

Tanner didn't like having Vyuli in her room. Somehow, the fact that he was even physically capable of leaving his little kingdom felt... unpleasant, made her skin crawl, made it feel like she'd just let him out of a cage, rather than dragging him into the fold. The only consolation was that he looked, somehow, more uncomfortable than she felt. He perched oddly on his chair - on, not in, he never relaxed to that extent - and his cheap black suit hung oddly around a body so twisted with paranoia. In the light of day, he was a different creature, his frailty a little more visible, his humanity something more than a vague suggestion. But his eyes remained sad, even as he spoke with the lightest of possible tones, as if he was talking about the weather.

"Hm."

"I'm serious, girl. I want him dead. Hang him, if you like. The colony knows you took him, the news broke some time ago. And if you took him, that means he did something. And some of them are starting to piece together than he's the one who killed the governor, given how long he's been imprisoned, given how I've done nothing to act against this aggression. People ask me and my men why you've done this, why I'm not responding. Soldiers are getting bolder in their approaches, talking loudly in the presence of my men about... arrogant topics. The longer you imprison him without explanation, the weaker I look. The weaker I look, the less confidence my men have. The less confidence my men have-"

"The more likely they are to try and do something stupid, like free him, usurp you, fight me..."

"Precisely. You have my daughter already, and while I don't take umbrage with that act, there's... once is an accident, twice is happenstance, three times is enemy action. If you arrest one more, if you make one display of authority over my men, there's going to be bloodshed."

He still spoke calmly, almost a little regretfully. If Tanner admitted to the colony that Lyur had killed the governor, then she had to execute him. There was no passing responsibility to someone else, someone senior - she'd already seized authority, she was that 'someone senior', that 'someone else'. And passing responsibility would undermine her at a time when she could not be undermined. She had some mutants following her around, soldiers that generally liked her (still an odd thought), and a lingering aura of command produced by personal deeds, spiced by a little of the institutions she served - a hint of law, a trace of gubernatorial authority, a delicate smattering of the Erlize's inscrutability.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

And there was no question of just keeping him imprisoned. The crime was too severe. And... not acting would be a weakness. Lyur, by every metric, ought to be sentenced to death. Keeping him prisoner was keeping an active liability standing near her at all times - where did he go when the bunkers were filled? A known murderer, a murderer of the governor, a sadist and a lunatic who'd had a shrivelled human heart in his coat pocket when she arrested him, in close proximity to innocent, vulnerable people?

No.

No, there was no question of it.

She'd taken so many vows in this... new state of mind. Vows that entrenched it, legitimised it, added fuel to the momentum driving her onwards with crushing, unrelenting force. She'd abandoned her faith in the law. She'd abandoned her commitment to due process and truth. She'd abandoned certain moral scruples. She'd lied, and intimidated, and colluded with criminals, and wound up abandoning all the modes of thought which had defined the overwhelming majority of her life. All her restraint, her relative existence, all of that had been thrown aside, and now... she wouldn't lie to herself, it wasn't going to come back, not in the same way. Tanner Magg had gone down into the underground river, Tanner Magg had come back out, yet behind the identical names were two very, very different people. Identical twins with different upbringings, coming to vastly different conclusions.

Hanging a man felt like...

Like that was the last vow she could take. Like nothing else could ever match it in terms of novelty - everything afterwards would be in its shadow, on a spectrum established by this event.

Because Lyur hadn't killed the governor. She knew who killed the governor. She was protecting those who killed the governor. And killing a man, even Lyur, for a crime he hadn't committed, while conscious of her error, was... that was immediate expulsion from the judges. All she'd done could be... excused by the necessity of the situation, and she might spend the rest of her days in peaceful exile in some backwater territory, blacklisted from ever holding any position of importance ever again - better to have a scandalous judge inside the fold, where she could be monitored, then flung out to make a bigger fool of herself and by extension the entire organisation - but this was beyond the pale. Expulsion. Possible prosecution. Immediate deportation from Fidelizh, without appeal. If she was lucky, and the Erlize didn't just make her disappear.

But no-one would know, an insidious part of her murmured.

No-one would know what she'd done.

Lyur will be gone. The mutants won't talk, and will be dead soon anyway. Vyuli doesn't know. There's no alibis anyone could give that would be truly compelling - even a direct eyewitness of Lyur during the night in question would be dismissed, and eventually every opposing account would fade away.

In a few years, he might as well have murdered the governor. Paperwork will make it real. When the humans are gone, the paperwork will remain, and that'll be the end of things.

No-one. Will. Ever. Know.

She would.

She'd know.

She stood suddenly, walking to the window, looking out with a perfectly flat expression. Defences were going up, mostly around the Breach. Stones being hauled by mutants who were immune to the cold, used to narrow the path the mutants could take, before being lined with traps. Force them to move close together, then shred them and splatter their fellows with their rotten blood. Wouldn't drive them mad, necessarily, but it would... slow them. In the event of a siege, they'd have to deal with incorporating new, chaotic mutations taken from vastly unrelated creatures, and that always took time, had possibilities of failure, even risks of catastrophic degeneration as the new mutations became cancerous and refused to leave the body. They'd checked the bunkers - safe. The water was safe, the supplies nicely isolated and protected. Food was being moved by humans, under the watchful eye of the cartel. Everything was poised on a razor's edge, though. Vyuli could still cause catastrophe if he wanted. The soldiers could still kick her out if they wanted. The mutants were a sword held over the colony, and while they could swing in its defence, they could solidify its downfall before the red tide even crashed ashore.

A gentle knock at the door dragged her attention back to the room, where Vyuli was quietly sipping tea, holding the cup with both hands and blowing before each sip. Be ice cold before he reached the bottom.

Yan-Lam's voice eased into the room.

"...miss, sorry to bother you, it's..."

Her voice dropped.

"It's the General."

Ah.

"Send him in."

The door was, with startling delicacy, pushed open. Allowing a very, very large man to enter. He was... cleaner, than the last time she'd seen him properly. Much cleaner, and his red hair was combed back to reveal the full expanse of his mutated face. His cloak was bright and near-spotless, his missing arm shrouded by cloth, his bearing shifting towards the recognisably human. A gas mask was over his mouth, however - mandatory. And the amount of clothing he was wearing suggested that there were some protective layers underneath. The soldiers were uncomfortable with the mutants just... associating freely with them, and the mutants shared this opinion - had to have some kind of filter, just to stop any concerns over contamination of food or water or air. Quiet arrangement with the General where no mutant was permitted to enter any kitchen throughout the colony, nor any private homes unless explicitly and unambiguously invited.

General had taken it all with good humour. He seemed to like that so many were uncomfortable around them - a childish enjoyment of watching those he'd been running from for years squirm under the weight of his gaze, flinch at the rumble of his voice, blink in bafflement as he acted like a completely civilised individual.

Hoped the joke wouldn't wear thin before the mutants arrived.

The General stumped in, cloak flaring, All-Name trailing behind him loyally, also looking a little more scrubbed than he usually did - though he still had a furtive, rat-like look about him which Tanner doubted would ever leave.

"My General wishes to bid you a good morning, judge. And he... bids you good morning as well, sir."

Vyuli stared flatly at the two.

"Morning."

Tanner forced a smile.

"Please, come in. Yan-Lam, could you make some more tea?"

A quick nod, and the maid scurried off in silence, movements followed closely by All-Name, his eyes narrowed with mild suspicion. The General didn't sit - the chairs were too uncomfortably small for him, but he rested easily on his unnatural limbs, his enormous arm drumming a contented rhythm on the floor. He smiled.

Tanner shivered.

"It's good you're here, General. Everything's going well with the others?"

A rumble, a quick translation.

"My General wishes to inform you that the soldiers are doing well, and are enjoying having some fresh air again. However, they would appreciate a few barrels of Ina liquor - they are incapable of intoxication, but they would appreciate the taste. And... the lost one continues to lurk around our fires like a hungry dog. Peaceful, for now. If you like, we could send her below, where she can be contained with the rest of the mad. May become a liability when the red tide comes."

"I'll... consider that option, yes. And I'll have a few barrels sent to you as soon as I can, stocks permitting."

A pause as the tea came in, and All-Name snapped his mouth shut, unwilling to leak information to someone that probably came across... well, must be like being a wolf, being raised as a wolf, being surrounded by wolves, and then meeting a dog.

Uncanny. All the normal features, stretched over an unfamiliar frame, with a scent that played in the liminal space between known and unknown.

"...any signs of the mutants?"

Tanner's voice was a little strained with tension - at least to her own ears. The General hummed thoughtfully... and All-Name's flat, practised tones filled the air in a consistent murmur of translation.

"There's almost never a sign. Wild mutants always bring change - they spread contamination around them, they attract other mutants who then want to fight them, they go to places where contamination is high in the first place... but the smart ones never show definitive signs. Especially when they're close."

Vyuli shivered, his eyes dark with old memories.

"He's right. No howls, nothing. And they're fast enough to be able to divert themselves to take advantage of the wind without losing much time or mobility - avoids setting off detectors, so long as they stay downwind. No way of really detecting them, best you could do was figuring out where they wanted to go, and either setting up the right defences, or running for the hills and hoping for the best. Had a fortress, once - my family stayed in it for two nights. Detectors didn't whistle, not once. No signs. People inside thought they were safe, well-supplied... my wife was outside, relieving herself, when she saw something fly in front of the moon. Something big. We packed our bags and ran, no-one else came with us, thought we were being idiots. Whole place was wiped out in one night - mutants squirmed out of the pipes, survivor told me. Blocked every route, surrounded the place, came from above and below. Nearly everyone was dead when the sun came up after the attack. Few days, and no-one was ever going to live there again. Contaminated water, mutant fungus in the walls, mutant plants filling the soil with filth, whole place was rotten. Had to burn it all down when they reconquered it."

The General sized the old man up, an odd expression on his face. All-Name coughed, and translated the subsequent rumblings.

"Quite. My General is in agreement. The first sign of the mutants will be when they attack."

"So... ought to move the citizens in the first second we can?"

"Most likely."

Tanner sighed.

"Right. Bunkers are almost ready. Just... once people go in there, we can't let them out until things are over and done with, right?"

Vyuli nodded, and grumbled a little.

"That's the damn risk with these things. You go inside, you don't know if you're going to be there for a few days, few weeks, few months... mutants could just stand back, let us make damn fools of ourselves, then walk in when we're starving and ready for death."

"No, no, they have to attack before spring. Once we're able to get back in contact with Fidelizh, we can get backup, they'll investigate a mutant-hunting ship not coming back home, they'll send more colonists, there'll be people again."

"Good few months, that. Good few months."

"And they'll attack during midwinter. Best time for them, given how hostile conditions are for the rest of us. Longer they wait, the harder things become, more risk of a disaster."

Fact of the matter was, now was probably the best opportunity they'd ever get. Decapitated leadership, period of no meaningful preparation, internal tensions, unresolved corruption, overlapping agendas... and she had to believe that they understood this. They'd severed the route back to the outside world, sterilised the mutant-hunters before they could become an issue, spied on the colony (presumably), and generally did all they could to isolate while keeping them ignorant. Lantha had been a miracle. If they didn't attack now, the colony would be more prepared for next time, might get more robust support, a more bellicose (and alive) governor, a long-overdue reckoning with the consequences of the colony's dysfunction.

"We'll move people in as soon as possible, then. As for defences, General, I'd like you to take me around them at your earliest convenience. I need to talk with Bayai, as well, make sure we're... properly equipped, that everything's functional. Worst-case scenario, what would we do if they attacked tonight?"

It seemed appropriate to say 'tonight', rather than 'today'. Terrible ambushes had to occur under conditions of darkness, the idea of a noonday battle was just... too honest, too slanted in her favour, too human. The General rumbled thoughtfully...

"My General would, in the event of a sudden attack, lead his people in a charge against the foe, buying you time to retreat to the bunkers as quickly as possible. They would then fight a running battle, delaying the mutants as long as they can, to allow your soldiers time to prepare proper countermeasures, and man what defences we have. The theurgic devices..."

"They're coming along."

"If unfinished by tonight, we'll assume that the best we can do is to delay. We'll see if we can spare a few of our own to mind the theurgists - if they can get to the bunkers, they can continue to work on their projects. But... I won't lie, if they attack tonight, the General believes we'd more or less be fighting a war of spite, not survival."

Spiting the enemy, making them pay for every step they took. Maybe ruining them before they could conduct another conquest, if that was their goal.

...she paused.

"What... do you think they want here? The underground river is empty, by and large."

Vyuli shrugged mutely. The General hummed. It struck Tanner that, right now, she was talking about strategy with a mutated slave-holding nobleman, a young man raised as a sacrifice by that nobleman, and a murderous criminal who'd almost tortured her to death. And they were all having tea. Tea. In a room right across from where she'd demolished a floor in order to get to a secret passage.

The General began to speak.

"...it is uncertain. My General's opinion is that... there is no certainty, one way or the other, what their goals might be. There are sections of the river we never explored in great detail, due to the overgrowth of hungry matter and... a general lack of necessity, but he thinks there might be stores of contamination. Sacs, of a sort, that they left before the war."

"Are those worth fighting over?"

"...he is uncertain. Perhaps. These are mutants behaving in the fashion of the Great War - working together, organising, demonstrating remarkable trust in one another and remarkable control of mutation - and those were... always a little erratic. Can hardly expect them to follow the usual logics."

"Hm. I... suppose not."

A pause.

"Still. It's odd, fighting them, and not even knowing why they're coming here."

Vyuli grunted idly.

"They could be coming to kill us all, girl. Purpose suited them last time."

"...I suppose."

"You ever hunted buffalo, girl?"

"No. Never."

"Sometimes, a herd goes funny. You shoot their leader, the buffalo, well, they'll buffalo."

He smiled humourlessly.

"Without a leader, they just wander around in a circle, screaming in the air. You keep shooting, they don't do anything, just keep moving, moving, moving... problem stops being aiming, stops being finding, stops being anything along those lines, problem becomes not letting your gun melt from how much you're using it. Move like they're dancing, big circular dance, odd rhythm to it, just mill. Wander around their own dead, won't even look down. You ever hear of a creature that, when it has a hundred bodies at its disposal, barely one or two people firing at it, and all the power in one of them to crush any human into powder... runs around in a circle and lets themselves die?"

"...can't say I have."

"There you go. Ever heard of an animal that damn stupid living on to fill the plains with themselves, so many you could walk across some herds on their backs, never once need to touch the ground for miles and miles?"

Tanner didn't say anything.

"And there you go. I don't know either. Still hunted them, buffalo meat kept me alive last time, we'd skin them, leave the hides, burn them up, treasure every scrap of meat we could peel from their bones. Just because you don't understand it, doesn't mean you can't kill it. Maybe these mutants are just doing some sort of... idiotic thing, not outside their character, they lost the Great War, after all. If they were perfect geniuses, think they'd have wiped us all out."

He fell silent. The General nodded in agreement once All-Name had murmured the translation into his ears.

That was it.

One more thing on the docket.

"Lyur."

This, the General required no translation for. His face split into a small, conspiratorial smile. One that Tanner loathed. That smile, alone, made her want to renege on her agreement and throw him back to the depths of the underground river like he was a bad fish she'd hooked by accident. He spoke softly, and All-Name translated hesitantly.

"He ought to be executed for the crime he's committed."

Vyuli raised his hand sardonically.

"The mutant speaks sense, by the hammer and the eye! Hang him, get it over with. I'll get my boys to build the damn stocks themselves, if you want."

The General hummed...

And shook his head.

All-Name translated, and Tanner felt a sinking sensation run through her.

"There's... a taboo. You don't know about Rekida, nor its culture, nor its people, nought but a handful of details. The land is hungry. The ground thirsts. The inner body is the seat of all good things, it warms us and sustains us, it contains all the things we value most. To hang a criminal, especially one so completely foul, is to insult the earth you walk on. It kills the heat in them by sterilising it, stops it escaping to rejoin the earth. When a sin is committed, the ground rumbles, the beast of the world begins to wake. It has to be put back to bed by offering the body's warmth to it."

Tanner was very silent indeed.

"Execute him the proper way. Use an axe, our axe, ideally. We shan't require punishments such as the saw or the flaying, not this time, but... please. Do honour to our country. Execute him honourably, and return his warmth to the soil. His sin provokes the earth, and the earth demands recompense."

Silence.

Well.

Even Vyuli looked a little... off-put by the request. Not for the brutality - just the irregularity.

"...I can provide a man. Prefer it if your lot did it, though, General. Given that you're the ones being satisfied and all."

The General sniffed, a little irritated. All-Name translated tersely.

"We are cursed. Godblood courses through us, our names are forgotten and forbidden for this, a hundred honours are denied. For one such as us to do the deed would offend the earth further, by insulting it with a poor cup-bearer."

"One of mine, then."

Tanner grimaced.

Really ought to let it be one of his. Just... stand by, watch as Lyur got killed by one of his own, by a bouncer, just like he'd killed Tyer. Just desserts, really. Really ought to. And that would be all - that would be the end of this matter. Just a shift from being hung to being... what, decapitated? That was it. That was it. Not like it made a difference, he died either way. She sat, and beneath her desk, kneaded her skirt a little. Working out a tension that brewed deep inside her gut. Lyur's death already sat poorly with her. Making this final commitment to abandoning some of her most basic principles, contenting herself with her new lot in life. The momentum behind her fluctuated a little, and she felt...

She wasn't sure how she felt.

Somehow the hanging felt less personal. It was... death by gravity, it was mechanical. All they did was... put Lyur in a position where the natural influence of gravity killed him. They arranged a meeting between the two, they didn't do the deed. There was no blood, no mess, he just swung around, his face went purple, and it was all over. Functionally, no different to any other kind of execution, but mentally, there was a gulf. A large one indeed. She'd be asking a bouncer to bleed one of their old colleagues to death to... prove a point. To honour the Rekidans. To do as she requested. And while Vyuli could dress it up, there was no... no way of making it seem like it was truly his own choice, he'd already sheltered Lyur time and time again from harm, this would scream of Tanner's influence. She looked at All-Name. Thought of how he had taken on everyone's names and legacies, committing himself to dying honourably. Scapegoat for an entire noble class, giving their lines some sort of pleasant conclusion.

Thought of herself. How she was... voluntarily abandoning her vows and her beliefs, so she could do what was necessary. Taking sin into herself, taking the burden away from others. Canima couldn't break his rules to do what was needed, Vyuli couldn't break his ambitions and dreams... even Bayai couldn't break some deep-seated notions of where he slotted into society, he wasn't ready to take command of everything.

She'd done it. She'd gone ahead and sinned so the rest could live. Her career was over after this, but if everyone lived, it was worth it. If she got to see sunrise after sunrise after sunrise...

"I'll... think about it. But it would be unwise to let one of your own kill him, Vyuli. Might send the wrong sort of message."

"Hm."

He thought.

"That I'm your whipping boy and do whatever you tell me. I understand."

"Quite."

"Well. Sort it out. Get a soldier to do it, or something."

Indeed.

Or something.

There was a sudden creak from the door, and Tanner's head jerked up, staring at the figure standing there. Thought it might be Yan-Lam, but...

She blinked.

"Mr. Canima, good to see you. Is there..."

Gods, he looked awful. He looked shrivelled, ageing years in a matter of days, and his eyes were deeply sunken into his head. Collar was a little stained - he'd shaved, and the blade had nicked him in a half dozen places, leaving his collar with a few tiny red constellations. And his bright, feverish eyes were locked on Vyuli, sitting there bold as brass with a cup of tea in the governor's waiting room. He stared, and for a second Tanner thought he was going to spring across and murder him. Vyuli, for his part, just sized up the old man with dull placidity.

"Taller than I thought you'd be."

Canima said nothing to him. Turned his head to Tanner, and spoke softly.

"I apologise for the intrusion. I see you have company. I may wish to talk, later. If you have time."

Clipped, short words, and nothing else. He strode away suddenly, shutting the door behind him with a click, and proceeded downstairs, based on the sound of his footsteps. What was he doing downstairs, they sent him food, drink, eveyrthing he needed, and he hadn't left his room for quite some time, or... hm, well, he wasn't a prisoner. Still. Odd of him to break his pattern.

In a way, she wished he'd stayed. Just to provide conversation. A distraction.

"I'll think about it."

Vyuli hummed.

"Yes. You said."

The General smiled slightly at her.

And he seemed to be declaring something in that smile. Something All-Name didn't need to communicate.

You want us to bleed and die and kill for you. To march around as your close allies, to give you strength untethered to cartel, to soldiery, to law. To give you perfect sacrifices. You do this, and promise to give us more comfort as we slip into madness and death. You cannot cure us, you cannot change our fates, only the route to them.

Prove that you're committed.

Prove that you'll make the final vow.

Prove it, and we'll follow you into the bowels of the earth without question.

Fail to do so, and how can we trust you? How can we be bound together? How can we die for you, when you will not kill for us?

We gave you an axe for a reason, you know.

She was being a lunatic. Inventing words where none existed. He might well just be going 'ah, you silly little fool, you do what we say, now. Do as you like, we'll follow your orders, but don't forget that we have wills of our own, rites of our own, and when we demand it, you will follow them. Consider this a reminder. A petty assertion of control over your own preferences. Maybe we have no beliefs as we have described them, and made them up to watch you squirm. Look at how the giantess plays along with our little prank. Look at how she wriggles in discomfort.

Maybe.

Maybe.

She legitimately wasn't sure.

Stood at the edge of a precipice. Back off, or jump. Backing off would be a refutation of her own momentum. The facts: Lyur had committed crimes worthy of the death penalty. Tanner had the authority to pronounce this penalty. Lyur, even discounting the governor, was a psychotic criminal his own master had abandoned as rabid. At the end of the process, Lyur would be dead, and Tanner would be alive. All that had changed was the method of death, a method which now demanded a bloody execution.

She had to choose.

Make someone else bear the guilt of the act, make someone else kill Lyur, someone who hadn't been chased by him, shot at by him, almost killed by him. Make someone else shoulder the blame. A soldier - the image of a soldier killing one of the cartel's members in full public view, likely taking a great deal of satisfaction in the act, watched by people who could see themselves in Lyur's place. A bouncer - one of Lyur's colleagues, maybe even a 'friend', if he had any, doing this because he was commanded to. Vyuli - an old man who wanted to remain distant from her, operating as his own agent, not her lap dog. Not leaping up to kill whoever she wanted, least of all one of his own. He needed distance, so that he could remain credible in the eyes of others.

If Yan-Lam was asked, Yan-Lam would gladly slice his throat.

If Ms. Blue was asked, she'd be racing off to do the deed before she'd finished her salute.

If Bayai was asked, he'd draw his pistol, steel his face, and get it over with. A Sersa executing a cartel member on her orders.

If Tanner did it, the guilt would fall on her. Someone from outside all the power structures. Someone from beyond, who'd achieved popularity among some, who yet remained distant from the interplay. Not a dog of the governor, not a slave of the Erlize, not a soldier, not a cartel loyalist, something out-of-context and strange.

In the old days, undertakers were always those who were a little beyond. The addled, the simple, the deeply eccentric. It was appropriate that someone possessed of liminal qualities should be the transit system between this world and the next. In the old days, judges did the job, they didn't let others dirty their hands with murder, they did it themselves in the depths of the inner temple, a solemn and sacrificial duty, in a chamber where no crowds could gather. People would walk into the temple, and simply not come out.

The judges, kept distant from all others, cleft apart and draped in capes and lenses and automatic quills.

The ground called for blood.

Tanner bit her lip. And her hands found her axe.

Found the cool metal press against her skin, almost humming in enthusiasm.

Would she?

Could she?

Must she?