Panic among the astronomers today! A great impact on the moon has sent a cloud of dust in all directions!

Perhaps more worrying than a stray meteor, certain astronomers have reported seeing one of our celestial neighbors…uh…sliced in half.

You know me, my dear listeners. I’m not exactly what you’d call pious.

But a man hears that a heavenly sphere was sliced in twain like an apple, and he takes a somber moment of reflection on his relevance in the universe, you know?

In honor of that, here’s a personal favorite. ‘Life’s too short for a sermon’ by Adalay Mercury – that rising starlet whom astute listeners might remember was Ruhum born before relocating to Waves in search of ‘fresh air’.

A lass after my own heart some days!

Spring 44

“Lee is dead, Your Grace.”

“What? How?!”

“Some kind of botched ritual. I will update as soon as we’ve wrung the full story from the surviving Penitents.”

“Tch! Those black-robed bastards…”

“Mayor Oshton was also involved. He had a phoenix.”

“Arrest him.”

“Sevensborough remains difficult territory. We will lose men. You dictated that we should do nothing to disturb the focus on the Conclave’s mistakes.”

“Then tap our other investment! Honestly, why are we even paying these fools?”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

***

Mid-afternoon, the Sevensborough aldersmen convened. Three answered the call, taking their seats in the center of the bungalow, and the Wavespeaker sat in Lee’s vacated spot.

“Replacing Lee already?” Greenleaf chuckled, blowing on his fresh tea.

“At least let his corpse cool,” Oliver snapped, rubbing his head. “Even a bastard like Lee didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“And what was ‘that’?” wondered the Verdant aldersman, gaze keen under his brow. “Maybe related to the fresh crack in our lonely moon?”

“Ask one of your seers.”

Greenleaf smiled. “Don’t need a seer to smell this trouble. Moot point, though. We’re here. You know why there’s a hole straight out of Lee’s melted moat that goes deeper than any mine.”

“The Tempest, wasn’t it?” Boucher asked.

“Yes,” Oliver admitted. He hated to invoke gods like a smoke grenade, but the reality was more than he would share.

Boucher ran his hands over his head. “…how many people know?”

“Word’s carrying fast,” Greenleaf rumbled.

Oliver had ordered the hole filled as fast as practical, but a man could only hide so much in broad daylight.

Plus those fanatics decided to fight their way out of the borough…

They’d been scooped up by the constables at the borough border and vanished into some Inquisitor dungeon.

“Damned priests,” the mayor muttered.

“Penitents,” corrected Belle gently.

The three men glanced her way.

“We do not have the luxury of lumping together the factions,” she explained, hands on her lap. “A Psalms can be reasoned with; an Inquisitor can be trusted to betray; and I am afraid the Penitents are among the worst.”

Boucher shook his head. “Belle, my dear, I’ve seen a few deacons that could put a king to shame.”

“I know,” she defended, plucking her dress, “but rapacious deacons and fat-chinned Keepers are merely repugnant.”

They tend their flocks, fleecing all the way

But Penitents?

Penitents yearn for the release of oblivion

Hearing the echo clear, Oliver grimaced.

In another life, by a few ripples difference in Time, he could have been excommunicated just like her.

Technically, he could be excommunicated for associating with her now.

In Angela Cecille’s Ruhum, what will be the sentence for Azure worship? For prayers said in the privacy of one’s own home?

“Our folk don’t gossip much outside the borough,” the mayor reasoned. “We might be able to muddy the waters on the worst details, at least officially, but there’s no hiding a dead aldersman.”

“Don’t see much cause to, either,” Greenleaf shrugged.

Boucher grimaced. “Greenleaf, even you must admit there are political implications to the removal of the last devout Aldersman in a troubled borough.”

“Erudite’s problem.”

“Erudite is not infinite,” Oliver muttered.

“So the constables throw a fit. We’ve rebuffed raids plenty of times,” the Verdant aldersman insisted. “This borough’s our jungle, and we’ll bleed them out before they make it through the first alleys.”

Boucher exhaled. “Greenleaf, you’re talking war!”

“The air reeks with war!” Greenleaf retorted. “This half-sunk borough is the only bastion of safety left for Deepbloom’s children, and we protect our own!”

Both men lapsed into silence, each lost in thoughts of that road.

Sevensborough is worth fighting for, the mayor thought on the one hand.

Constables march down Main; shots ring out; men scatter; men die, he thought on the other.

Dammit, Lee! We were teetering on that knife’s edge. Why’d you have to give us a push?!

In the quiet, Oliver heard Belle whisper, “I should send Valkyrie south…”

Which reminded him – he needed to send a runner to check on the lass. Tomorrow was supposed to be her ritual of clemency, and Alisandra was gone to the heavens to bury the Wyrm.

Boucher shook his head. “Honored Wavespeaker, if you send your own daughter away, what hope is there for those less blessed? We look to you for courage.”

“For courage…” she repeated, plucking more.

Her shoulders tucked in and head down. Her whole being curled inwards.

Oliver’s hand twitched, aching to seek her own.

His cheeks colored like a school boy.

Then Belle’s eyes widened. “You’re right.” She straightened, stilled her fingers, and nodded to the aldersman. “You’re absolutely right, Henri!”

“Forgive me. I do not understand yet, Wavespeaker.”

“We should leave.” Belle caught Oliver’s eyes, seeking his understanding, and her voice grew stronger with each word. “What is this borough but a slum? What indignities have we suffered for this pride? Each year the constables grow bolder and the landlords more vicious. Soon there will be no place at all but Sevensborough. And then…”

Then they have us in a box

Cats debating what to do with a mouse

“We are welcome in Highbranch – in Moros – in Waves! Why are we here, watching the Conclave and the constables chip away our dignity?!”

Greenleaf crossed his arms. “I am not in the habit of surrendering the home I built with my own hands to please some rotted Lord. I will fight.”

“There are many ways to fight!” she insisted. “Why do we have to choose the one we know ends in tragedy?!”

Many ways to fight…

Boucher rubbed at his stubbled chin. “Certainly, many have favored that logic these last fifteen years, Wavespeaker. Yet even after a decade of steady emigration, this borough is home to near ten thousand people, and five times that number of Azure-sworn remain scattered around the work houses and farms. We must consider post-Lumian converts as well and those among Aure’s flock who continue to aid us to their own peril.”

“Probably a hundred thousand people,” Greenleaf agreed. “You know what that sounds like? That sounds like an army.”

Kin against kin.

Oliver thought of his brothers back in Oshton, plying the farm and raising their kids. What would it be like – to look across the field and see one’s kin on the other side of the rifle?

Is it cowardice to shy from that fate?

“As long as you plan to abdicate, I’ll nominate four Verdant aldersmen,” Greenleaf shrugged callously.

Nix trilled from her hidden perch on the roof, and a warm tickle ran down his spine.

March with those you treasure

And cowardice will never find you

His very own phoenix lightning rod, drawing the Chorus down.

March. Not war. March.

“There will not be any aldersmen in Sevensborough by the time the Conclave and the church have satisfied their hunger!” the Wavespeaker snapped, surging to her feet.

For a moment, her hair lashed around her like waves.

Who did Oliver want to march with?

His heart skipped a beat.

Greenleaf remained blind. “This is my damn home. Lived here my entire life. Took in the Broadleaf clan after the last Keeper made them targets for a hanging. We’ve faced down the law a dozen times, and we’ll face it a dozen times after you lot leave. If you’re not willing to fight for your damned home…”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Exhausted against his wall, Belle hissed between her teeth. She deflated, glancing away. “My home? I suppose it was. I had hoped…I wanted Valkyrie to know how beautiful the mountains are in Spring. To see the golden Harvest dancing like a living sea…For her to love Ruhum as I did. I think…I think I just didn’t want to admit that it was already gone.”

And t’was not the Wyrm that killed it

The fierce energy in the air teetered.

Sighing, Boucher glanced at Oliver for guidance.

Still blushing, Oliver struggled with his own thoughts.

Erudite is not infinite…

Is it cowardice?

Sevensborough is worth fighting for.

But what in the icy hells is Sevensborough? Erudite’s deed? Our soil?

Should he stand alone among the wreckage, could he call a couple square miles of slum home?

Even now, he could smell Lumia…

I won’t turn Nix to war. Not when there’s another way.

Choice made, he leaped upright. “Belle is right! The Conclave is going to demand blood for Lee. They’ve ignored us so far as a matter of prerogative. Well, ignorance is bliss, and we’ve blood of a fallen House to account. They’ll find their brotherly love long enough to crucify me and wring Erudite into the ground. Once Erudite goes, the hammer falls. We can’t sit here waiting for the last blow.”

Because they’ll nip and harry

We’ll ball up tighter, starving, weaker

And when the finale comes, we’ll have lost before the first shot

Plus, as a point of mortal pride…

Ali is running herself ragged trying to protect us. Time we picked up some of our own damn luggage!

“The tide is headed out. Now’s the time to board the boat.”

Aldersman Boucher glanced between Oliver and Belle. Then he covered a smile with his hand. “…I see.”

“Something wrong, Boucher?” Oliver coughed.

Boucher shook his head. “Oh, just thinking about how bad Betha’s gonna lay into me…”

Greenleaf eyed Oliver. “That a man’s resolve, huh?”

“It is.”

The Verdant aldersman nodded in approval. “Alright. Then that’s what must happen.”

To the side, Belle twitched in deep-seated annoyance. Her suggestion? Cowardice! The same restated through Oliver’s lips? A man’s resolve!

Oliver whispered an apology her way out of the corner of his mouth.

Then the magnitude of this decision settled on his shoulders. Even with all the contingencies dreamed up over coffee with Alisandra, he faced the act of moving an entire borough for safer shores…

He almost took back his ‘man’s resolve’ on the spot.

But there was Belle, smiling with fresh hope, and a stray thought across the bow:

Doesn’t she deserve somewhere to hold her head high?

If he was still Oliver the nineteen-year-old Inventor, he’d probably stay. Smash his thick skull into the wall until the end.

Now? Now people looked to him, and he carried that weight.

“Alright. First thing’s first. Boucher, I need you to grab Betha and start headcounts. We’re going to have to tap a few…” The mayor coughed. “A few mutual friends for manpower and vehicles.”

Boucher tilted his head. “The navy poses a problem. Our alternative shipping functions on discretion, not valor, and with this many…”

One smuggler could evade the navy forever. A flotilla, however…

Oliver shrugged. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we’re not dealing with them.”

Both aldersmen perked with interest.

“How exactly do you plan to get off an island without touching water?” Greenleaf chuckled.

“Magic,” Oliver replied blithely. “Moving on…Belle, can you make a sweep of the inner boroughs for anyone staying with a cousin? I doubt I can walk Firstborough without a warrant by now.”

The Wavespeaker scowled in concern. “But if I take my escort…”

“I have Nix, and the constables still know better than to test Sevensborough.” For now. “But we need to be a step ahead. If they make a play, they’re sure to seize the Mayor’s Dive.”

His heart squeezed at the thought of leaving the old girl behind.

“Got some interesting papers there?” Greenleaf teased.

“Give me some credit!” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Personal effects only.”

Like one life-sized, articulated angel doll – occupancy zero.

“Boucher, Belle, let’s meet at Betha’s first thing tomorrow. Greenleaf, if you’re serious about wanting this borough, start thinking about your appointments.”

The meeting adjourned, and Oliver hurried from the bungalow. As his feet hit the dirt, Nix alighted on his shoulder; he offered her a rub and found her body pleasantly warm.

“What’s got you a-glow all the sudden?” he hummed, gaze sweeping the perimeter for any more surprises. He would have to accustom himself to paranoia; there was worse anxiety to come. “Something you want to share with the class?”

His phoenix just nipped knowingly at his ear.

Together, they ducked into the warren. Light fading, they navigated the faded ruts more by memory than sight. They arced east, following the endless alleys through Deepbloom’s territory, and Nix regularly chirped softly in greetings to the elemental beasts hiding in the walls.

A world hidden beneath a layer of cardboard and corrugated sheet metal – like a paper mâché of piety…

Halfway home, he spotted Sebastian with the mail.

The angel of Witness nodded to Oliver. “Mayor Oshton.”

Oliver kept walking. “Sebastian.”

A sudden thought drew the mayor short. He stopped two paces ahead of Sebastian, sucking his lip, and asked, “You’ve the foresight. Why didn’t you join Ali and I in preparations?”

“My presence would have undermined them. My countenance is unsettling, and I have no great gift for moving the hearts of men. It would be inappropriate of me to invoke either the House of Mishkan or the Tempest. Consider a man faced with a seed at the bottom of a delicate flower – will he not destroy the flower in reaching for what he can see?”

“So you’ll just deliver the mail and do Valkyrie’s laundry.”

“It is for the best,” Sebastian recited, tone flat.

Nix eyed the angel of Witness and chirped sharply in disagreement.

“You might fool me, but she knows better.” Oliver brushed past. “You’re just afraid you’ll make the same mistakes as Eden – so you make it our problem.”

“It must be as you say,” the angel of Witness agreed, bowing to his back.

Oliver turned the corner, leaving that damned angel to his mummery.

As he neared Main, he had to press that sour conversation and all his other weights to the back of his mind. Tommy’s boys were still watching the diner, and eventually they would work up the courage for more than bricks.

Nix too perked, her head swiveling back and forth as they emerged onto Main at dusk.

Rounding the curve, he spotted The Mayor’s Dive, besieged by Tommy and his boys. Sixteen of Tommy’s miscreants and the aldersman himself waited in the streets, bricks by their feet and rifles on their backs. They had already shattered all the windows on the ground floor, and now they brayed amongst themselves, working up the courage to start on the second floor.

Oliver sucked in a breath, but Nix chirped warily into his ear.

His phoenix knew better than to fear some punk with a brick; he trusted her senses.

Shaking his hands from his pockets, Oliver approached slowly. None of the boys were on look-out, and he stopped twenty paces away from the festivities.

“Too busy for the aldersman meeting, Tommy?” he called.

Caught by their elder, the group froze. The foremost boy quickly stowed his brick, and his fellows laughed at him.

Then they picked up their rifles, grinning with the confidence of new toys.

You should all still get to be kids, the mayor mourned. It’s my failure that you grew up to be wolves.

Tommy turned last, smirking. “Oh, look who showed up! I was wonderin’ if you fled town after knocking over Lee.”

“You seem to have a grudge against my establishment.”

“It’s criminal property.” The aldersman smirked wider, nodding towards Nix.

Sweeping the group, Oliver spied the damnedest things pinned to their chests.

Badges.

“I don’t recognize that precinct,” the mayor replied, stomach sinking. If there is any mercy in heaven, tell me they molded those badges from tin cans. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t respect it. Sevensborough has gone this long on its own, Tommy. You seemed to enjoy that.”

“Times are changing,” the boy hummed back.

Behind him, his boys fanned out.

“Who’d you sell your soul to, then?”

“I don’t have to tell you nothing. I’m just here to bring in a heretic,” sang the aldersman.

The blood drained from Oliver’s face.

Not constable badges for petite reeves.

Holy boots newly minted for the Inquisition!

The boys laughed at his shock.

“Tommy…Tommy…” the mayor groaned. “What’d they promise you?”

“I’m moving up in the world,” the scrawny gangster shot back. “Had my fill of my orders from fat-arse cooks and old women!”

“No, instead you will take them from God, and you will find his agents far less reasonable.”

“Hells, this old fart will talk all night,” stage whispered the boy to Tommy’s left. Hefting his rifle, he trained the sights – poorly – on Oliver. “Let’s…”

Oliver whistled, Nix hissed, and the barrel exploded against the boy’s cheek.

He toppled to the ground, screaming. Clutching at his face, at his missing ear, at his missing fingers.

“This is the last warning any of you will get,” Oliver announced over the screams. “Throw away the badges, go home, and you get to see tomorrow.”

Tommy snarled. “Ah, here we go! So god-damned sure of yourself!”

Casting back his jacket, the aldersman revealed an underfed bundle of his own. A phoenix, maybe six months out of her egg, with faded plumage and a mean glare.

“She cost a real fortune, this little beauty. Course, I got her for free. I was going to kill you anyways.”

Watching the phoenix wiggle against the boy’s side, Oliver asked softly, “Do you love her?”

“What the hells sort of queer question is that?”

“Is she a part of you, and you a part of her?”

Nix trilled in agreement, reluctant for the confrontation to come.

“You’re batty!”

“I’m trying to save your life,” Oliver sighed.

Tommy smirked. “Coward and a limp-dicked faggot! Let’s see how…”

Yet the gangster could be clever, on occasion. Instead of lunging for Oliver, he whirled and heaved his young phoenix at the diner.

Where Jimmy was still in the kitchen, hunkered down and waiting for his boss to return.

“…your retard cook enjoys the heat!”

A spark shot into the diner, and a fireball bloomed into the street. Poorly controlled, it hurled his own boys backwards in a spray of glass.

Nix shielded Oliver as the mayor shouted, “Jimmy!”

The mayor dropped his shoulder and bull rushed through the boys into the inferno.

His precious diner burned. The aluminum shivered; the refrigerator warped; his checkboard napkins swirled into a cloud of ash.

Phoenix fire licked at him, hot and hungry. It lashed at his face and scorched his lungs, pressing in against Nix’s influence in accordance to its orders. Already seared by his stunt with the Wyrm, he struggled against its demand.

Fire always takes us in the end

Not quite yet dammit!

Coughing, he stumbled further in. Mundane fire held little danger for him thanks to Nix, and twice in one day he now felt the nip of true flame…

Nostalgic, really.

He kicked over a burning table and slammed through the door into the kitchen.

Empty.

Upstairs!

“We’ll find him!” he promised Nix.

His phoenix burned brightly, a bubble of shimmering light against the growing inferno.

Flames licking at him, full of ambition and pride.

So this is your heart, Tommy.

Ducking his head, Oliver raced through the diner and up the stairs. He fumbled with his keys, choking and eyes stinging, and finally slotted the right one.

Bursting inside, he found his apartment just as ablaze. His papers crackled, his bed smoldered, and Jimmy cowered by the couch with the wild-eyed terror of a boy thrown from his world.

Thea’s body lay over him, and was it a fluke or design that those carven arms protected him?

Oliver stumbled across the warping carpet, nearly put his foot through a growing hole in the timbers, and dropped to his knees before Jimmy.

“We need to go! The whole diner’s gonna crack at this rate!”

Whining in terror, Jimmy shook his head.

“Hey! Hey.” Oliver took a deep, burning breath. “Look at me.”

His cook shook his head, clinging to Thea’s doll tighter.

The diner shuddered, Tommy’s hunger laughing at them from all sides.

“She’s not here, Jimmy!” Oliver explained, trying to gently pry the cook’s fingers away. “Thea isn’t here anymore!”

Jimmy raised his hand and slowly, stiffly signed, “She is lonely.”

Just like that, the mayor recognized his own blindness.

That I could see how you see, Jimmy. Truly understand you. All I can do is provide you an ordered world.

Perhaps sweet, simple Jimmy heard Songs all his own. Songs just for him, and who was Oliver to hear every whisper in the dark?

Oliver took Jimmy’s hand. “Mirielle will find her, Jimmy. No matter where, no matter how far. She’ll manage it.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Mirielle,” he mouthed, the name known.

Ah, my echoes have rubbed off on you. Sorry, Jimmy. I guess we all do it.

The diner shivered, and Oliver forced himself to speak calmly. “Did Thea tell you about her? We have to believe in them, Jimmy.”

Then a beam cracked; the floor buckled; and the ceiling collapsed.

Just as fast, the blank-faced doll surged to its feet and caught the central beam above their heads.

Its eyes glowed hard blue; a programmed response; empty of the angel herself.

You do not belong here

“Of course she’d implement disaster programming!” Oliver laughed despite himself.

But for Jimmy…for a mortal man who knew nothing of the angels and their tricks…

“She wants us to go,” he tried to explain.

Jimmy glanced at the doll, holding the beam as the floor sagged another alarming inch, and then at the mayor.

Oliver held out his hand. “She wants you to live.”

The cook took his hand.

“This way!”

They stumbled away from the couch, battling the acrid smoke and the hungry flames. Navigating holes in the broken floor, Oliver led Jimmy to the back windows.

Nix. Window!

His phoenix trilled, and the glowing metal of the window sill cooled to a reasonable temperature. In return, the air behind him grew even fiercer, and his hair crackled as the skin on his neck desiccated and split.

At this rate, he’d be mostly scars by tomorrow.

“Out you go!” he shoved, pushing Jimmy over the window. The cook wobbled and dropped, landing on the garbage with a heavy grunt, and Oliver sighed in relief.

Probably some smoke inhalation, but he’ll be okay.

Oliver turned back, his thoughts clear.

Nix pulsed on his shoulder, and he reached up to stroke her pinions.

The skin on his fingers blackened and burnt all over again.

“But that’s what Fire is, you know,” he whispered to no one in particular. “Burning us up, a little at a time, till we’re memory.”

He picked his way to Thea’s doll.

“Mirielle is coming for you,” he told the puppet. He raised his hand, half command and half prayer, and rumbled, “Be there to be found.”

A hitch.

The flame frozen a moment.

A man’s heavy, approving voice echoed without words in his head.

A strong wish

A loyal wish

Arms linked to arms linked to arms

Unbroken chain ever burning

Hark now to one who drinks deep of smoldering dregs!

And Oliver’s prayer rose on dead and undying currents to collide with the doll.

It crumpled, strings cut.

A flicker of blue raced away like one lonely signal racing home.

“That’s both of them sorted,” he told his phoenix, ears ringing.

He breathed in deep.

Smoke and burning flesh and the despair of just how fragile peace could be.

War always waiting just around the corner.

Tommy’s hunger wavered, flames echoing with impatience. He wanted to know if that fat mayor was ash by now, and he pressed his Will upon his phoenix to burn brighter.

Nix hissed in disgust.

“Agreed.”

He does not deserve such devotion.

Oliver stepped over the empty doll.

Back into the inferno.

Back to do what he must.

***

The flames consuming The Mayor’s Dive suddenly wrenched inwards.

Seized by the greater Will.

Then the inferno exploded outwards, consuming the building in the unfurling of fire like a phoenix’ proud wings.

***

Blackened bones and scorched pavement.

Little gold dollops from gangster gold teeth.

Jimmy peered fearfully around the charcoal-black remains of the diner into the street.

There he saw Oliver Oshton, fresh scars minted across his neck and scalp, kneeling over ashen remains.

In his left hand, the mayor cradled a young phoenix. On his right shoulder, Nix rested after her work.

And, praying that heaven would welcome home wayward souls, the mayor wept.