Larais stood next to the other two Triarchs atop the Citadel ramparts, observing the rippling movements of the crowd gathered before the Citadel walls. There were thousands of souls down there, begging for help, running away from raiders, plagues, poverty, seeking salvation behind the walls of the city. An incredible stench rose from the crowd, the one that only thousands of unwashed bodies can produce - it was almost enough to drive the Citadel Guard away from the battlements.
Almost.
Hundreds of scarlet-clad soldiers stood atop the walls, some of them bearing rifles, others with repeating crossbows, all of them organized into neat units of twenty that wielded both types of armaments. Each soldier was also equipped with standard-issue blades, be it axes, long daggers or short swords, and each unit had to have at least seven soldiers that wielded long, barbed spears. They were brothers and sisters, training with their unit for years until deep bonds formed between them - that way, it was ensured that they fought to protect their close ones and not just themselves.
“We cannot turn them away.” Ceryna gasped with hand over her mouth. “We… we have to…”
“We have to do nothing.” Argyl growled through his teeth. “We are not able to sustain even a tenth of them without taking food from the mouths of our own people. This…” Argyl leant against the red stones of the wall. “They know this.”
“What do you mean by they?” Ceryna asked softly.
“Their leaders. Generals of their armies. Their lords, their high priests, their holy order. Victon.” Larais muttered, never taking the eyes of the crowd.
“A tide of refugees this large means only one thing.” Argyl turned towards the women. “We are under siege.”
“It’s not an army.” Ceryna pointed out. Larais rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t need to be an armed army. Think, Ceryna. Our gates are closed, we are locked in the city, unable to even try to leave. What do you think would happen if we opened the gates? They would flood the Citadel, stomp us to death, overrun everything to eat, steal, pillage…
“And if you think that we should help them, to share, can you imagine the repercussions that would have?” Argyl supported Larais. Ceryna shook her head slowly.
Argyl sighed, and leant against the wall again. “We would waste our medicine, food and water, and manpower. Our guards would be needed to keep the order, which - believe me - is much harder at this scale than simply butchering them all would be. We would be left without supplies, tired, overcrowded. This city would turn into an overpressured steam engine, waiting to explode, with but a slightest spark being enough to burn our nation down.”
“I… I’m not suited for this.” Ceryna muttered. Larais and Argyl nodded, and Argyl answered. “We don’t need you to coordinate the war effort. We need you to provide for our own people, to keep them happy and comfortable. We need you to run the councils, hear the people, help the people - our people.”
“We need you to be the human voice if we were to become too inhumane.” Larais continued. “But, we need you to keep the interests of our own people first.”
Ceryna nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
They all fell silent, their eyes running through the crowds.
***
Back to the voices of the dead. An idea may form in your mind, whether it is possible to talk to the dead, if the dead can talk to you. The simplest answer would be yes, but…
There is a question whether the dead would want to talk to you. Think of it this way - they are in constant torment, neverending pain, and suddenly there is a living soul in front of them. One that is not torn apart each hour, each minute, each second of its existence.
The dead envy the living. The dead want to be the living. The dead would gladly pull you to the Deadvoid, and swap places with you…
Luckily, it is not that easy.
But, it is certainly possible.
Dear wielder, do you comprehend what I’m trying to say to you? Yes, it is indeed possible to return the dead back to life, but they would need a vessel. A body to inhabit, and soulless, mindless bodies do not just wander around. Technically, you could create one in a reconfigurator, or…
Please, do not do it. Ever. The Deadvoid leaves its mark on the returned and the death follows the returned with each step he or she takes. A primitive civilization might call it a curse, but the truth is much simpler - the dead attract the death.
Additionally, my dear wielder… How humane would that action be? Beware of losing the sight of what is right, and what is wrong. Don’t waste what humanity can create by trying to reverse what every human has to undergo at the end of their path…
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
***
“Can’t sleep?” Harian sat next to Auria, chewing a piece of salted meat. She shook her head.
“Anything useful in there?” He asked, and Auria nodded. “It’s strange, reading this journal. I feel like all that I’m reading, the projector already knows, and yet it’s all new to me. I feel like that since it bore itself into me. All the things it does, it… It doesn’t really surprise me. It doesn’t make me feel weird or different, it feels almost natural.”
“Like you’ve done it all before?”
“Yes!” Auria shouted quickly, before even thinking about it.
“And did you do it all before?” Harian asked, smiling. Auria opened her mouth, but she could not bring herself to say no. Instead, she sighed. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember my… Wait.” She put the book away, pulling her dirty robes over her head, unbuttoning her blouse. Taking clothes off with a projector in the way was much more tiresome than one would expect, but she was getting the gist of it. When unclothed, she turned her pale back towards Harian. “There is a way of finding out, perhaps. I’ve had scars on my back since I can remember. Please, look at all the entry points where the projector’s tendrils pierced my skin and try to… compare them, or something.”
“I see no scars.” Muttered Harian after a few minutes. “It would look like the projector entered your body exactly where your scars were. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me, Auria.”
She sat down, heavily. Again, she wasn’t surprised by this development. It was as if she knew, all along, that at one point in time, somewhere in her past, she was a wielder. A quick, painful sting in her head reminded her of the headaches she had in the past, of frequent, skull-splitting agony that…
…was perhaps caused by the loss of a sense…
…sense gained with the projector…
She shivered, chill running down her spine. She had to discover her past, unshroud it, and she knew that she was on the right track. Auria knew that her past, her present, and her future were linked by a projector.
***
Tingling in her fingers kept her off sleep. She felt Auria, close by - ever since the medic tried to use the thing on her, Naira felt some sort of connection between her gauntlets and Auria’s projector. She could pinpoint precisely where Auria sat, how far away, in which exact direction…
She raised her right hand, focusing, her fingers spread, dancing in the air as if she danced with a marionette… And indeed, she felt as if her fingers brushed against a soft thread dangling in the wind. Naira tried to catch it, to hold it, to perhaps tug at it weakly but it kept slipping away, always just out of her reach. She felt as if she tried to catch a smoke and, just as a smoke, the thread connecting her to Auria always slipped between her fingers.
How strange… She thought, examining her blackened hands and fingers. I wonder…
She let the dangling thread be, and decided to thoroughly test the gauntlets. What help could they be, other than thread-catching? Were they pierce-resistant? Were they slash-resistant? Were they perhaps able to withstand great temperatures, or perhaps acidic substances. After all, they covered her hands tightly.
She screamed in surprise when she cut at the gauntlet and instead, it felt as if her own skin split open. A drop of darkened blood gushed out of the wound but not more, as the wound closed itself just a moment later. Curious…
Million ideas circled in her head regarding all the tests she could perform to properly and completely determine the properties of her gauntlets when suddenly, she felt Auria use the projector for something. The thread Naira felt in the air hardened, and she knew that now, she could catch it and pull at it easily….
She reached the arm and found the string again. This time, she caught it and she felt as if holding a long, thin leash, wrapped around Auria’s projector…
I wonder what would happen if I pulled…
She thought for a brief moment, but, as exhilarating as that idea was, she threw it away and let go of the thread. Something inside her told Naira that it would serve no good, that it would only cause pain and suffering to both her, and her friend…
Yet something also told her that there will be a time when she would be forced to pull on the thread with all her strength, and never let go.
***
“We could make them work for it. Send them to our fields, to tend to our crops, our livestock, to our fishing fleet… More hands would mean larger food consumption, sure, but also a lot more produce.” Ceryna offered after ten minutes of silence. Argyl turned towards her. “We can’t do that to all of them. What would we do with the rest?”
“Nothing.”
Both Argyl and Larais looked at her with raised eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“As you’ve said, they are not our people, and we should tend to our own first. Let’s give them an offer - food and medicine for work, but for a limited number of people.”
“That would be…” Larais spoke, unsure of the right word. Argyl finished instead of her. “Slaughter.” He said, his mouth a thin line.
“Not necessarily. With hard enough work, they can earn more than a single person would need. A strong man can work for his entire family, not just for himself.”
“Ceryna, you…” Larais started, but finished her sentence with a sigh. “This will not work.”
“I agree.” Argyl nodded. “But, it’s our only idea yet. So, Ceryna, how would you do this whole thing? What would be first?”
“I’ll make a complete, detailed document for both of you. But first, let’s make the refugees do the work - let them choose their leaders. Let them choose someone to speak for them all, and with them, we will discuss all the necessary arrangements for the… greater good.”
Argyl sighed. “Do you realize how easier our life would be if we just… eradicated the problem, instead of solving it?”
Larais nodded. “Yes, but we are above such actions. What we do here, we do for the betterment of all humanity, not just the Citadel. The world just doesn’t see it yet.”