Andrei

I'd recovered quickly from the brunt of my illness, and I felt—for the most part—better by the time of our departure. For our trip to Leberecht, the Commander commissioned a wagon and two horses from the Drop. Incidentally, the wagon was designed for transporting prisoners, and there I was, alone in a cell with an ancient book and my childhood trauma.

All sardonicism aside, it wasn’t so bad—certainly not glamorous, but it served its purpose.

During the day, Sinclair took the reins while Reider napped in the front. At night, Sinclair joined me in the back. We had nothing to hide from the Commander anymore, and Helena Varis stayed in Oskari to keep an eye on the village.

Along the way, I studied as well as I could through the nausea.

Having already uncovered all chapter titles in the Vonsinfonie book, I focused my efforts on translating the one entitled Six Times Blessed. At first, I thought the chapter was an overview of the Partisan, until I remembered there was no way the Vonsinfonie Brothers could know we exist. Unless, as Feargus Finlay once joked, they were actually from the future.

Before dusk, the Commander stopped the wagon near a clearing too inviting to bypass. There were a pair of fallen trees for us to sit and relax, and a river nearby with fresh water I nevertheless insisted we boil before drinking. With winter approaching, the evenings had grown colder and shorter, and while the Commander tended to the fire I cautiously avoided, Sinclair tended the horses. In her home territory of Stracha, the beasts roamed free, accepting riders—or not—as they saw fit. Never tethered, never bred, never bought or sold. Sinclair understood mine and Reider’s need for transportation faster than our feet, so she made certain our captives were well-cared for.

After we ate and exchanged casual chatter, we settled in for business.

The Commander still poked at the fire with a stick. “Okay, Strauss, what does the book say?”

“Most likely, the men at the schoolhouse were not Barren.”

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“Yeah,” Reider said. “We know. We were there.”

“Yes, but the men were not Partisan either.”

“Yeah,” Reider said. “We know.”

“Yes, but do you understand what this means? This book—and your experience, of course—are evidence of another species of human. A third species.”

“Yeah,” Reider said. “We know.”

By then, Sinclair had settled in on the log beside me.

“Oi, Michael—let the clever man speak now he’s caught up with the rest of us.”

The Commander had nothing more to say, so I continued. “According to the book, and unlike our eyes which set us apart, there are no visual differences between these individuals and any Barren. The signs are biological and psychological. For instance, it seems they have an aversion to reflection.”

“Like, mirrors? Or like, introspection?” Reider asked.

“Both, I believe.”

“You believe?”

“Symphonic is a complex language, Commander. Would you care to review my work?”

He didn’t care to.

“Were there any windows in the abandoned schoolhouse? Any mirrors or other reflective surfaces?”

Reider shrugged and smiled ruefully. “The windows on the main floor were busted up if not boarded up, and I guess I forgot to look for mirrors in a room full of skeletons.”

“Fair,” I said. “The text refers to the creatures as Givers, although I’d initially thought it may have been Takers, the rhythm in which the line was written favours—”

“Strauss,” the Commander said. “Focus.”

I peered over at Sinclair who seemed to have fallen asleep on my shoulder. I lowered my voice more or less as a courtesy. As I've said before, we have fantastic hearing. “There’s the implication that these creatures live—or have lived—two lives, although I’m not sure yet what that means. We know they share most of our collective strengths. They are regenerative, immune to disease, and long-lived like the Senec, although there’s nothing about prophecy. They are telepathic like the Delphi and empathetic like the Endican. Therefore, without the necessary defenses, our psychological and emotional weaknesses are theirs to exploit. You’ve seen they are fast and they are strong. But the most alarming revelation of all, is that if this book predates the Divide, then these Givers predate the Partisan. I’ve studied centuries of history, folklore, theology, and there hasn’t been single mention of any of this—why?”

“It’s like I said,” Sinclair replied, her eyes still closed and her head still pressed against my arm. “We're all here to die or go crazy.”