I don’t understand what’s going on.

One second Mila’s offering her scathing opinions on my blueprints and the next she’s doodling away with a mad look in her eye, muttering indecipherable jargon beneath her breath as she litters the ground with discarded parchment. It’s kinda adorable, in a wacky, crazed scientist kinda way, though more than a little disconcerting to see in action. Did I break her with my wild, wacky idea for a spring-loaded hand-cannon?

Before I can open my mouth, Husolt’s meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder and drags me away. “Keep quiet, there's a good lad,” he Sends, pulling Diyako away in the same manner. I’d be worried if it wasn’t for the giant grin on my future father-in-law’s face, looking every bit like a proud papa as he moves us out of the forge and into the streets. “Good, good, good,” he says, his voice no louder than a whisper yet teeming with praise. “That’s my girl. Eighteen years young and blessed by the Mother, she’ll outshine us all.” Barely able to contain his excitement, his arms flap about in small, repetitive movements, encouraging Mila from afar.

He might be a towering, one-eyed, muscled behemoth of a man who could scare the daylights out of a grown-ass man, but Husolt is still a father first.

Seeing Diyako’s confusion makes me feel better about myself, so I tug on Husolt’s sleeve and whisper, “What’s going on?”

“She’s been Inspired is what’s going on lad,” he replies with a too-hard thump of my shoulder. I'm gonna be bruised in the morning, if I survive that long. “You might be two buns short of a baker’s dozen but your doodlin’ set somethin’ off in ‘er brain box, sure as shootin’.” His accent gets thicker the more excited he gets which makes it difficult to understand his odd colloquialisms. “My little girl’s in there listenin’ to Mum's nattering so best we leave them gals to gab in private. Ah lad, you’ve set in motion my darlin’ girl’s claim to fame. Ain’t every blacksmith who can be Inspired, some go a lifetime without ever hearin’ Mum's sweet whispers. I can’t even imagine what she’s gonna dream up now...”

Inspired huh? “Is it something like Insight?”

My question earns me a nod as Husolt swells with pride. “Close enough, but Mum ain’t tellin her what to do, she's just helpin’ her along, giving her the tools and information she needs to create a masterwork weapon based on your mule-brained idea. Mila ain’t just scribblin’ away, she’s mentally forging each one of those weapons, learnin’ and improvin’ as she goes. Even if she can't turn your silly notion into a real weapon, she’ll be a better blacksmith for it.”

I gotta say, his dismissive attitude regarding my rifle really hurts. Then again, I wanted a coiled spring as my next Spiritual Weapon, so maybe I deserve a little ribbing. “Oh, so it’s like a Natal Palace for forging. Cool.”

Curiosity and surprise flash across his face as he studies me carefully before Sending, “You’ve formed your Natal Palace?” At my nod, he snorts out with his donkey laugh, thumping me even harder than before. “Well ain’t that somethin’, my girl sure knows how to pick em. You're dumber than a bag of sand, but you got talent, no two ways about it.” After catching his breath, he continues his explanation. “Close enough comparison, but this ain’t permanent. They say it only happens when you catch the Mother’s attention, since only She can provide what’s needed. See, She knows Her bounty is limited, so there ain’t much call for trial and error when forging Spiritual Weapons. One mistake and you’ve ruined your near priceless materials, so most blacksmiths’ll keep to tried and true methods, with no innovation or improvement. Like your sword and shield, I hammered em out in a handful of hours, bog standard work, nothin’ fancy about it. Then there’s Inspired work, like my shield you gave to Adujan, some of my best work yet. Ah, you’re a daft fool for lettin’ fertile waters flow into another man’s fields...” His voice is tinged with remorse as he falls silent, but I don’t see what the fuss is all about. First of all, it’s a six-pointed shield, what’s so Inspired about it? Besides, what was I supposed to do, ask her to abandon her dreams to be my friend and maybe third wife? 

Knowing better than to speak, I send Diyako home and settle in to wait. Within minutes, a squad of Sentinels arrive and barricade the roads, redirecting all traffic around the forge to ensure Mila is left undisturbed. Akanai arrives shortly after and rushes into Husolt’s embrace, my shoulder mercifully spared after twenty minutes of heavy thumping and pained gripping. Like father, like daughter, neither of them know how to control their strength.

After Husolt fills her in on the details, Akanai shoos me away. “There’s nothing you can do here. I will send word if the situation changes, return and rest. You’re nothing but skin and bones, hardly an inspiring sight. Before you came along, I’d never have thought there was such a thing as working too hard. Use this time to decide what you will buy for my daughter’s betrothal gift, be sure it is worthy of her talents.”

“Ah, right, slipped my mind,” Husolt interjects. “I found a plot of land like you asked for. Two streets over, close but not too close.” Pulling out a scroll, he tosses it into my hands. “You thinkin’ of building my girl a forge? It ain’t too creative, but it ain’t a bad idea either.”

“Better,” I answer with a grin. “I’m letting Mila design her own forge. She’ll have the last say on everything from the roof tiles to the nails, with nothing but the best materials to choose from. She only needs to wave her hand and the finest craftsmen will jump to do her bidding, creating the work space of her dreams.”

Akanai frowns in disapproval but Husolt snorts with laughter. “Ah, you know her well enough. Never happier than when she’s bossing someone around and tellin’ em what they’re doin’ wrong.” Kissing Akanai’s cheek, he adds, “She truly is your daughter, old wife.”

His comment earns him a hard elbow to the sternum and I say my farewells before I’m caught up in one of their legendary arguments. Bringing Atir with me so she doesn’t have to sleep outside, I head home and find my family waiting up, with Lin and all their respective quins and pets. With four adults, two children, six fully grown quins, three quin pups, two bear cubs, two wildcats and twenty birds, calling it cramped is an understatement.

Getting all the greetings out of the way, I find myself a spot to sit, with Mafu’s flab coiled around me. Handing me a warm bowl of stew, a plate of meat buns, and a pot of fragrant butter tea, Alsantset rolls her eyes and says, “You know, there’s plenty of room in the stables for all these quins. Or you could let them dig a burrow nearby, they’re more than hardy enough to survive the winter.”

“I’ll think about it for next year,” I lie, intent on keeping all my fluffies close by. Maybe Alsantset can bear letting Suret and Pafu sleep out in the cold, but I can’t treat my guardian quins like that. I’ve lost count of the number of times they saved my life while out hunting, whether it be by distracting a terror bird at the risk of their lives or leading me home while I’m lost in the forest. Sharing my living space with them is a small price to pay, though the moment I can get my hands on materials, I’m gonna build me a giant mansion.

I’m rich, I should indulge a little.

Fending off a bevy of hungry, juvenile animals, I eat a second dinner surrounded by my loved ones while sharing news of Mila’s good fortune. Bulking up is harder than expected, though running sixty kilometres a day probably wasn’t helping, even if I was taking it easy. The night passes in relative peace and quiet, Tali’s proclamation to become a chef met with smiles and support, though Tate scowls and vows to redouble his efforts in order to become strong enough to protect his sister. With Alsantset Mentoring Tate and Charok Mentoring Tali, their happy little family is more perfect than ever, two loving parents with two sweet, adorable children.

My heart twinges in doubt as I consider the future, impatient to get on with my life. I’m ready to start a family of my own, but Mila and Lin are so young. They have their whole lives ahead of them, is it selfish of me to insist on starting a family as soon as possible? Mila is busy working towards her goals of becoming a hero of the Empire and Divine Blacksmith, while Lin is still in her youthful adolescence, her callow immaturity a part of her charm but a major downside when it comes to raising children. I don’t think either of them are ready for a family, and even if they were, the People’s traditions don’t allow for adoption before the age of twenty five. There’s still a week and a half before I’m nineteen, longer if you go by the Empire’s custom where everyone turns a year older at the lunar new year in spring. Do I really have to wait six or seven more years before starting a family?

“Whatcha thinking about hubby?” Lin’s big brown eyes melt away my worries as she nuzzles against my shoulder. “Did you eat too much? Should we leave so you can...?”

“No, I don’t have to poop.” Well, that’s not true but I prefer to hold it in until morning, the lack of indoor plumbing really is the worst. Kissing her temple, I hold her close and sigh in contentment. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.” I really am. So what if I have to wait a little longer? It’s no big deal. I should stop with all the angst but it’s not entirely under my control. These damned hormones are driving me nuts.

Stolen novel; please report.

Besides, I should figure out this whole dual souls thing first. Chances are, Baledagh will be keeping this body, since I'm pretty sure I'm the foreign intruder.

Falling asleep in their papa’s arms, Tali and Tate look like little white-haired angels, their chubby red cheeks just begging to be pinched. Carrying them to bed, Charok heads home while Alsantset hangs back, hesitant to speak up. Sending Lin to ready her quins, I turn to my sister and smile. “He’s doing better,” I say without prompting, knowing she's too proud to ask about her father. “He ate every scrap of food I brought him this morning and even took the time to guide my progress on the Martial Path.”

“Good, good,” Alsantset mumbles, glancing away as she clenches her fists.

She’s so conflicted, the poor girl. “Are you angry at me? For giving him hope?”

“False hope.” Her accusation is barely more than a whisper, sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. “Mama’s body lies empty, her soul long returned to the Mother. Papa should let her die with dignity, why can’t you understand?”

“Maybe you’re right, but I can’t give up without trying.”

“You think I don’t wish to believe otherwise? That I don’t want my mama back alive and well?” A tear slips out as she glares at me, barely able to contain herself. “I love her but she is gone. Your Teacher says it is so. Who are you to say otherwise?”

“Merely a stubborn, foolish dreamer who doesn’t know when to quit.” Giving my grieving sister a hug, she trembles in my grasp like I trembled in hers the first time we met. “What I know about Healing couldn’t fill a thimble and I know even less about souls, but I know that so long as Sarnai draws breath, Baatar will never give up. Maybe she never wakes up or maybe she opens her eyes tomorrow, who knows? What I do know is that Baatar needs our support. Despite the ears, he’s not a lone wolf beholden to no one. He needs family to help him through these dark times, and though I’m doing what I can, I’m not family. He needs his daughter. He needs you.”

With a half-laugh and half-sob, the last of Alsantset’s barriers break down. Crying into my shoulder, it’s several minutes before she composes herself, smoothing out my jacket before wiping away her tears. “You’re wrong,” she declares with a sad smile. “You are his son as much as I am his daughter.” Patting my cheek, she adds, “Tomorrow morning, I’ll cook breakfast and we’ll visit him together.”

Far from inspiring, something about the way she says it invokes a sense of dread and finality. Switching with Baledagh, he reports a handful of Spectres harassing my sister and Devours them before returning control. Fucking hell, they weren’t there a week ago... am I gonna have to inspect everyone again? “Sister,” I say, wondering how to delicately phrase this next bit. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret, okay?” Brilliant, subtle, ingenious. Idiot.

At least I didn’t say, ‘like poisoning your comatose mother in a misguided effort to help your father grieve’.

Freezing in place, my strong, confident sister cringes like a child. “Is it so obvious?” she whispers, too unable to meet my gaze. “You must think me a horrible person.”

Giving her another hug, I shake my head. “Never. I get it, you don’t dare hope she might live because losing her once was hard enough.” And so do the Spectres. Would it make things better or worse if I told her about their existence? “You’d never have gone through with it, but grief makes everyone a little crazy.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. It was just a dark thought in a time of weakness. You're too strong for this, as the daughter of Baatar and Sarnai should be.” Gently leading my shaken and vulnerable sister home, I tell Charok everything through Sending while having Baledagh check everyone else for Spectres. Spiritual Herpes is an apt moniker, who knows when the next break out will occur? Leaving Alsantset in Charok’s capable hands, I escort Lin back to Taduk’s suite and share a word with my exhausted Teacher, picking his brains on possible solutions for Sarnai’s condition to no success. It’s well past midnight when I return home to a ger full of snoring animals, mentally and physically exhausted from my first day of rest.

Breakfast and training with Baatar, sparring with Zian, a clandestine operation to collect my retinue and stolen Spiritual Hearts, seeing Mila gain an Insight, and dissuading my sister from committing matricide at the behest of malevolent Spectres. If I have many more ‘relaxing’ days of rest like today, I might just keel over and die from the stress.

My eyes close for what feels like a split second before opening them once more, the sound of horns and bells interrupting my long awaited rest. “DEFILED ATTACK!” yells the herald, his voice booming as if he were in the room. Sighing, I sit up and stretch my aching back, suffering the repercussions of sleeping fully clothed in a pile of quins. 

There is no rest for the weary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coughing into his handkerchief, Shing Du Yi sat bundled in his blankets and waited for the reports to arrive. Not like he had any other choice, his days of gallivanting about were long past him, his bones unable to handle the chill autumn air. There was nothing wrong with him aside from having a ninety eight year old body, and while a healer might ease his aches, even if he were inclined to seek their aid, there were better uses of a Healer’s efforts. Like nursing the battered Nian Zu back to health. Unlike himself, Nian Zu could still make a difference.

Had Du Yi devoted more time to meditation in his youth, perhaps he might have eked out another twenty years, but as things stood, every morning he woke breathing was a pleasant surprise.

Who would have thought there’d come a day when he missed those foul teas brewed by his daughter? In a mere seven months, his health deteriorated to a point where he no longer accepted audiences with his Lieutenant Marshals, keeping his condition a secret. Others might suspect but without proof, there would be no action. Once word of his imminent demise got out, his enemies would undoubtedly strike against Yuzhen without fear of reprisal, as who would bother paying debts to a man laying at death’s door? Though his daughter had performed phenomenally during her foray in Sanshu, seizing all of the city's wealth for the province, it only made her death all the more tantalizing to his enemies. Situ Jia Ying had withdrawn from the fray, undone by her brother’s blunder here at the Wall, but there were others lurking in the shadows, his clansmen first among them. Flocks of vultures circling his position, each waiting for him to die before divvying up his title and wealth. None dared make the first move, all hoping to be the fisherman who benefits whilst the Sandpiper and clam tussle.

Giving Yuzhen his title as Marshal of the North was akin to hanging a target on her back, but who else could he trust to succeed his position? Now more than ever, the North needed an unrestricted and incorruptible Marshal to keep its people safe. At least she’d drawn the Bekhai to her side, though her methods left much to be desired. Gerel seemed like a fine, upstanding young warrior, but he was so humourless and cold, hardly a man to spoil and cherish his wife. Would he treat Yuzhen well or was she merely the means to an end? Ah, so troublesome, every father hoped his daughter would become a phoenix, but it was merely raising her for another to come snatch her away.

As if summoned by the thought of him, Gerel entered the room and handed him a sheaf of papers for inspection. The young man was dutiful to his future father-in-law, Du Yi gave him that. Unable to make out the words, he broke the seals one by one and had Gerel Send the contents to him. Though technically a crime since Gerel lacked the ranking to read these reports, it was hard enough finding a literate servant he could trust, much less one who could Send. It made him appreciate Falling Rain’s efforts to start a school and educate the masses, but Du Yi feared things would not go as smoothly as the boy hoped. The sheer cost of feeding so many mouths would beggar all but the wealthiest nobles, and though the boy amassed a considerable fortune from robbing the Council, it wouldn’t last the winter if not for Du Yi supplementing the boy from his own pocket. Rain's heart was bigger than his wallet, not a terrible flaw, but something to be noted for future use.

Bah, his mind was drifting again, so bothersome. Refocusing on the task at hand, he asked Gerel to start from the beginning. This latest attack on the Wall went well for the Empire, an overwhelming victory by any measure. A slaughter in fact, with the Defiled charging forward in droves and rushing to their deaths. Senseless and illogical, with none of the clever machinations he’d come to expect from their fearsome foe. Only a few thousand deaths comprised mostly of the old and feeble. Probably thinning the pack for the coming winter, but it could also be a probing force, though Du Yi doubted it. It seems like the Enemy had retreated, leaving the North in peace after months of endless fighting. 

To the best of his knowledge, their canny foe had withdrawn the moment the Defiled broke through the West, which further proved the Enemy had a means of long-distance communication. Oh if only he could do the same, he’d give those idiots in Central and East a piece of his mind for abandoning the West without even pretending to care about the millions of lives lost. Not a single citizen in the empire would rest easy knowing the Emperor cared little for their fate, and with winter soon upon them, unrest would fester as bodies laid idle and hunger gnawed at bellies. Worse, now Central was left wide open to the Defiled hordes. There were no convenient choke points between West and Central, the wide plains and open sea routes giving the Enemy plenty of avenues of attack. How long before the Defiled horde marched upon the Central province, cutting off North, South, and East in one fell swoop? Perhaps the Defiled hordes only retreated from the Southern and Northern Walls to march west and join their brethren, gathering together for one concentrated push into the heart of the Empire.

At least the North was well guarded, with only the points of access at the Wall, the Society, and the North-West passage, but they lacked the population to hold all three points.

Settling back in his chair, Du Yi sighed and sent Gerel away before ordering his manservant to pen two messages, one for his daughter and one for the Justicar. Victory or defeat, whatever lay in store for the Empire, it wasn’t his fight, not anymore. The North would need to be unified, which meant the sooner Yuzhen took office, the sooner she could consolidate her base of power. The fate of the Empire laid in the hands of the next generation, in the hands of veterans like Baatar and Han BoHai, or younger heroes like Gerel and Falling Rain.

All he could do now was get out of the way.

Staring at the letter in his hands, Shing Du Yi did his best to verify its contents, making sure every character was in place. The words pierced his soul one by one and soon, tears clouded his vision and forced him to stop. How had things come to this? Why did they refuse to listen to reason, leaving him no option but to resort to such extreme measures? With a regretful sigh, he stamped and sealed the confession to his part in the death of a visiting Imperial Prince. It had all been a tragic accident involving too much alcohol and with no one to blame. He’d only known about it after the fact, playing a small part in the cover up, but it didn’t matter one whit. Once he placed this confession in the hands of the Justicar, it meant the death of his entire clan for the crime of regicide.

Himself included.

But not Yuzhen, a half-beast who shared no blood relation. Even better, the Imperial Prince’s death predated Yuzhen’s birth, so there was nothing to worry about. Nian Zu and the Bekhai would see her safe, and even the Emperor himself had no say in who would become Marshal of the North. So long as Yuzhen did as he taught her, all would be well.

His clan could only blame themselves. Did they truly believe he wouldn’t do everything he could to protect his daughter from their assassins? Short-sighted fools, was there any father in the world unwilling to die for his daughter? An example must be made if Yuzhen was to take power without fear of reprisal. Only then would the others understand Du Yi’s threats were not idly made. If need be, he could bring every faction in the North crashing to its knees, but what good would it do him? The North needed them alive and well, not crippled and broken. Thus, to show his determination, he would ruthlessly eradicate his own flesh and blood, wiping his nine familial relations from existence. Only then would the others understand the depths of his conviction. Yuzhen would be Marshal of the North, or they would burn in the Father’s Maw alongside him.

Such is a father’s duty, to give his daughter the best chance he could offer.

No matter the cost.

A shame he wouldn’t get to see her in a wedding dress. A damn shame.

Chapter Meme