Peculiar Soul

Chapter 6: Exfiltration

Chapter 6: Exfiltration

Men of a certain age have a particular set of behaviors in common - a reaction to sudden lights and noises, an anxiety that manifests in quiet moments, bouts of anger and passion wholly unsuited for the situation in which they arise. It is impolite to admit that these are consequences of service on the continent, since such a statement might find that it has accidentally engaged in critique of The War itself - forbid such a notion!

So we have adapted, such as we may, to accommodate these peculiarities. Spectacles of fireworks have been viewed in poor taste for so long that I doubt our younger generations have ever seen a proper display. Constables take a soft hand with a man who lashes out from his cups, and there is a general tolerance for sudden withdrawals from conversation.

A more recent phenomenon, however, has been the proliferation of modern lighting across our streets, in our homes and workplaces, and indeed to every corner of most cities and towns. Some of the elderly have been heard to grumble about the brightness and the cost, which is not negligible. They are not wrong to note it, but I humbly submit that banishing the darkness is well worth the effort, in the same manner that we as a society endured the loss of fireworks to soothe the pain of their cohort.

We do not resolve to banish the night, as there is nothing fearful therein. We banish the dark. For those who have served on campaign against Smoke and his ilk, a cheery light is the least we may provide to remind them that such a terror will not grip them here.

- Gunther Vogt, editorial dated 18 Waning, 684.

The coach ride was rendered tortuously slow by the pace of Michaels racing thoughts. Worse was the necessity of remaining outwardly calm - he could not indulge in fidgeting or tics, nothing that would show more nerves than Sparks summons could justify. He felt sweaty, uncomfortable, sure that his father must be suspicious-

But, no. Karl looked over at him and snorted, his eyes seeing only what they always had. Spark warrants caution, not fear, he said. Find your spine before we arrive. Your behavior reflects on me, and Ill not have you fainting like some powdered dandy.

A hot little bead of anger settled into Michaels core. It was a tiny shift, to see his fathers words for the attacks they were rather than some species of care clad in masculine indifference. Tiny, but crucial. The words would have cowed him before, though, so he simply nodded and straightened up in his seat.

Karl gave him an evaluating look, then lapsed back into silence. Michael felt the drumbeat of his heart settle back into its regular rhythm, and the coach continued its ponderous journey towards the city center.

Michael was almost surprised to find that he had very little to say to his father. It was the last opportunity he might ever have to speak with him, but in the confines of the carriage he found himself shying away from conversation as though it might somehow harm him - which it might, considering how close he had come to showing anger just moments ago.

Just as he had resolved to endure in silence, however, Karl looked over once more. This wont be like dealing with Sibyl, he said. Spark is an insidious soul. Resolve not to speak unless spoken to, and hold to that resolve no matter what ideas might occur to you. He looked out the window. I will not be going into the room with him.

Michael could not help but raise an eyebrow - there was a grave tone to Karls voice that he rarely heard. It occurred to him that there might yet be some use for the remaining time with his father, if he could wheedle some information about the man who so disrupted his life.

What particular dangers should I be wary of? he asked. Are there preparations I might make?

Karl laughed, not a kind noise. Is there anything that you might do to contest one of the Eight directly? he asked, a note of acid mockery in his voice. One evening with Sibyl has done wonders for your confidence, boy. He settled back in his seat and shook his head. There is no defense against Spark. An augmens has dominion over what grows, an artifex may mold stone or metal at will. The base material cannot resist one who has been ensouled with mastery, and Sparks mastery is of the heart. You are his base material.

Peters face danced in Michaels vision. Each time he saw it, those staring eyes looked a bit more like his own. Surely there must be some contingency against him, he protested.

Of course, Karl said. That he is confined to his miserable island as much as possible, and that no Assemblymen or figures of importance are permitted to speak with him, nor he with them.

Only that? What if he decides that the arrangement is too restrictive for his taste? Michael shifted in his seat. What stops him from doing as he pleases?

What stops any man? Karl asked. Only that the cost would be too great. He benefits from Assembly patronage of his research, just as they benefit from its fruits. He leveled a significant glance at Michael. Just as we will benefit, if his insight is what can reveal the nature of your soul.

A very small benefit for that sort of risk, Michael muttered, looking away out the window. The streets outside passed normally, with no hint that his to-be abductor lurked somewhere beyond. For a quiet, frantic moment Michael entertained the thought that there would be no intervention - that Vincent would not take him, leaving him to Sparks whims.

A derisive noise from Karl interrupted his fretting. It isnt as though you have a choice. If one of the Eight wants to see you, they see you. Sibyl inserted herself into Institute procedure easily enough, and likely arranged for Sparks visit as well - I would have done my damnedest to keep you from her clutches save for that, and she knows it. It was neatly played.

Michael held his tongue. It was bizarre, hearing his father pontificate on intrigue when for once he was privy to secrets that Karl had no way of knowing. The confidence that oozed from his assertions lent a different aspect when Michael knew it was misplaced - and how often had he simply not known? Believed simply because it was his father?

A veil was tearing with each word his father spoke, and where it slipped he saw a different view of the looming thundercloud that had shadowed his life.

The air in the coach seemed to stiffen. Michael turned and saw an ugly look on Karls face. His heart beat faster - such an expression had always ended poorly for him in the past.

Father? he asked.

I dont like that look on your face, boy, he said, his voice dangerously quiet. Michael stilled his expression, frantically pushing back whatever traces had so offended his father - habit, more than anything, since it was far too late to avoid the danger. Blades crowded the air around him, prickling his skin while he kept very, very still.

His father leaned across the space between them. Its the look you wear when you think you can keep something from me, he said. When you know youve done something wrong.

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as Michael stared back across the carriage, mind racing to think of some response that would lessen his fathers rising anger. He didnt even need to endure the entire ride, only the few minutes until Vincent made his move-

Michael blinked. They were going to the Institute, inasmuch as his father knew, and it would raise questions if he showed up for his appointment with Spark covered in wounds or with his clothing ripped to tatters. An idea crossed his mind that he would have buried, before, thrust frantically into the dark corners of his mind so that no trace of it should ever show on his face.

Now he held it, turning it over carefully.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

His father couldnt hurt him. The glowering look and threatening words were all he could bring to bear before their appointment, and one way or another there would be no after for the two of them. An odd, hollow ache seemed to thud into place at the center of Michaels being as he realized it.

Karls lip curled, watching him. Whatever look had bled onto his face, his father liked it even less than before.

You think youre a man now, is that it? he said. His voice had gone velvety, chill and calm with no trace of the anger dancing in his eyes. I suppose it was only to be expected, now that youve got your soul. Dont think that Sibyls favor gives you license-

The coach plunged into darkness. The air grew instantly, stiflingly hot, and Michael felt sweat break out across his brow as the shuddering motion of the wheels slowed, then stopped.

Its an attack, Karl hissed, his voice rippling with indignation. An Ember. Stay still, boy, or youll catch whats meant for him. The torrid air grew sharp around him, and Karl raised his voice. All right, coward. Show yourself-

The windows of the coach shattered, and the door behind Michael opened so suddenly that he fell from the carriage. A man caught him before his head dashed against the cobbles - Vincent, from the surprised exhalation he made when Michael toppled onto him. His clothing felt oddly heavy and thick where Michael touched it.

Come on, he grunted, pitching his voice low. Before-

Wood creaked and shattered behind him as the coach flew apart. Michael felt sharp pain where splinters and shards of glass penetrated through his jacket.

Show yourself! Karl roared, his voice harsh and commanding in the pitch-dark. A shrill noise keened through the air, then again - Michaels breath rushed out in a groan as Vincent shoved him down against the ground.

Light returned. Michael raised his head to see his father standing in the ruins of their carriage, breathing hard and incandescently angry. He glared past Michael at a masked and black-clad Vincent. Sibyls retainer wore thick, multilayered armor of cloth and leather, and two gashes across his torso showed the glint of mail from underneath. The larger of the two shone wetly with blood, and Vincent pressed his arm over it with a muttered curse.

There was a path from the back of the barn that led beyond a hedgerow and into the trees, where the two men found a haycart and a horse that had both seen better days. The horse was a drab brown, idly chewing on some hay from the cart as one eye monitored their approach.

Only the best transport for you, Vincent said. Therell be some food here as well, and water. Help me get Annabel hitched.

Michael followed along warily as they approached the horse, who kept a gimlet eye on them but offered no resistance when Vincent led her to the carts front. He made quiet noises and rubbed the horses nose while Michael fastened the straps he could reach, then moved to help with the rest.

Finally, the cart was ready for travel. Vincent tossed Michael one final bundle of cloth - a rough homespun cloak, brown and bulky enough to cover him entirely.

Nothing to do about your clothes, Vincent said. Not a one of them that would pass for proper wear and Ive taken the spare shirt, but we can at least keep you from looking like a little lordling on the road. Now hop up, and lets be off.

Michael looked askance, as Vincent had gestured to the drivers seat of the cart. Ive never driven a cart before, he protested. I dont even know where were going.

Vincent laughed and climbed - carefully - into the back. Youre apprenticed to Annabel now, he said. She knows the business of carting better than any two men. As for our destination - just south, for now. Follow signs towards Korbel if you see any.

The thought of objecting further occurred to Michael, but Vincents surety was infectious enough that he simply shrugged and climbed up to the bench. The reins were sun-worn leather, and when he gave them a tentative shake Annabel whickered softly and began to trot forward.

They were back on the road soon enough, and Michael felt the noise of Annabels hooves settle into a half-heard beat at the back of his mind. The road and sun seemed a surreal invention of his brain, rebelling against the extremes his life seemed predisposed to of late.

One thing did stand out as especially real, though, jockeying for position among his thoughts until he could scarcely think of anything else.

Vincent, he said. Is my father dead?

Annabels hooves clopped softly against the road for a few beats before Vincent replied. Probably not, he said. I dont know if I got him or just made him go for cover. Most of the time Cutters dont have the stomach to stay calm under fire - even if they could chop a bullet, it wouldnt change the outcome much.

Michael made a distracted noise of assent, thinking of the faint sounds he had heard as they left. I suppose it doesnt matter now, he said. One way or the other.

Of course it does, Vincent said, sounding annoyed. I wanted to pull you out without putting a scratch on the old man, but he got me good enough to break my concentration and, well-

There was a bit of quiet about the right size to fit a helpless, exasperated gesture.

-here we are, Vincent concluded. Probably with a bit of extra pressure on us given that I just assaulted an Assemblyman. Quite a bit extra if hes dead, or in a bad way. Fortunately, Im even more talented as an escape artist than as an Ember, so we should be fine.

Should be, Michael repeated. Vincent did not elaborate, and the cart rolled on in silence for quite some time. Once or twice there was a muffled bit of cursing from the back as Vincent presumably disturbed his wounds, but save for that the journey passed quietly.

Michael had seldom traveled outside of Calmharbor, and those trips had not been along humble farm roads such as this. There was a strong vegetal scent on the wind, along with the more earthy smells of animals and well-irrigated mud. Insects flitted around him to investigate the sweat on his brow.

There were no fellow travelers on the road, and only twice did Michael see a farmer working one of the expansive fields that lined either side of the path before they too faded away and the cart was rumbling along a lightly-forested track.

The air was cooler amid the trees. It felt wonderful after the days untempered heat, and for a few minutes he simply closed his eyes and let the mild breeze of their passage chill his skin. The heat faded, but as it did he felt that hollow pang in his chest once more, an emptiness that only seemed to grow stronger the more he considered it.

It had happened too often, and he felt it too strongly to simply put it as coincidence. Vincent, he asked. Are you awake?

Something of a self-defeating question, Vincent grumbled. The answer, once asked, is inevitably yes.

Sorry, Michael said. I was just wondering - what does your soul feel like, to you?

An odd question, Vincent noted. Any reason for it?

Michael immediately wished that he hadnt indulged his curiosity. He was committed now, though. Ive had this strange sensation lately, he said. Sort of hollow, if that makes any sense.

Ah, I get that, Vincent said. Not uncommon, actually. The soul wants to be used, it longs to exert itself on the world. I get to feeling a bit funny if I dont indulge it every so often. Not sure what that means for you, given your circumstances.

There was nothing Michael could say to that, but Vincent shifted amid the hay after a few more moments. Probably nothing bad, he said. Ive never heard of anyone suffering ill effects from not using their soul. Vera never uses hers, and shes healthy as can be.

Vera? Michael asked. So she does have a soul after all?

A wry note of amusement crinkled Vincents voice as he replied. Probably shouldnt have said anything, shes a bit sensitive about it. I think shed approve of you knowing, considering - well. He coughed. Shes a Shine.

Annabels hooves clopped on while Michael processed that. Shines-

Arent real? Vincent laughed. Everyone always says that. They always say it right away, with such confidence. Its enough to make a man think. There was another rustle of hay as Vincent sat up. If I asked a hundred men to whistle a tune, what do you suppose would happen?

I expect youd get punched a few times, Michael replied absently, still rolling Vincents claim around in his mind.

Like as not, Vincent allowed. But if they agreed?

Michael sighed. Theyd whistle a tune, I suppose.

Vincents grin was nearly audible. The same one, or different?

Not all the same, Michael said, ducking his head to avoid a branch that dipped low over the road. Thatd be unlikely.

So what would you say it means, Vincent asked, that whenever I mention Shines to anyone they all whistle the same damn tune?

Um, Michael said, feeling mildly unsettled. Maybe its just that everyone knows theyre not real. Plenty of people are unnaturally charming or charismatic, it doesnt mean theyre Shines. Theyre just - nice, like Vera.

Vera is nice, Vincent said. You dont notice if nice people are Shines, they dont need any help being lovely. They care, and give, and worry for others without a scrap of concern for themselves. His voice had dropped, losing all of its levity. But what if a person could do what they wished, knowing that in the end you would forgive them? What if they could deal in horrors and receive only love in return?

Wood creaked as Vincent raised himself up from the bed and leaned forward until his hay-flecked, sunburnt face was beside Michaels.

Believe me, my Lord Baumgart, he said wearily. Shines are very real. What else do you think weve been running from?