Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“Back to the square!” Folsom said, somewhere high above.

Winter found herself being lifted once again. This time she bit back the scream. Ahead was a solid wall of bayonets. It parted as they approached, then formed again behind them as the demons closed in.

WINTER

She never quite lost consciousness, but it was a close-run thing. There was a long stretch when everything was a blur except for the pain-the scrapes and cuts all over, the stabbing agony in her side, the protests from abused joints where the demons had tried to tear her literally limb from limb. It wasn’t fair to expect her to get up after all that, she thought. It wasn’t reasonable. She ought to be allowed to curl up in a ball, close her eyes, and just wait until it was over.

It lasted until she remembered Bobby and Feor. They’d been with her until she’d hit the wall of demons, and then she’d lost sight of them. Graff and Folsom had come charging to the rescue, but she hadn’t seen them find Bobby. Her chest suddenly tight, Winter unfolded herself with an effort and raised her head, blinking back tears.

Bobby was sitting on the flagstones nearby, with Feor beside him. The Khandarai girl had her skirt drawn up, exposing a set of vicious scratches along one leg, and the corporal was helping her with a bandage. That answered that question, anyway, but now that she was in motion Winter couldn’t bring herself to just lie down again. She dragged herself up to a sitting position and tried to speak, but managed only a faint croak.

Graff hurried to her side. He handed her a canteen, and she drank greedily, tepid water trickling down her chin and soaking her collar.

“Are you all right?” he said when she was finished.

No, I’m fucking not all right, she wanted to say. I was nearly torn apart by demons. What do you think? But Graff looked pretty close to the edge himself, and in any case that would a poor way to repay him for saving her life. So she forced a shaky smile and said, “I think I’ll live.”

“Thank God. Folsom thought he saw you come in, but we couldn’t be sure until you got close. That was goddamned brave of you, charging the lot of them like that.” He paused, making it clear by his expression that by “brave” he meant “insane.”

“There were more of them coming up behind us,” Winter said. “I figured our only chance was to make it to the square.”

“Ah,” Graff said. “Well.”

“Thank you,” Winter said.

He looked embarrassed for a moment, and then his expression turned grim. “You may change your mind before long. You’re not much better off in here than out there.”

Winter took a proper look around for the first time. The company square was tiny, only ten yards to a side, leaving a small patch of flagstones in the center inhabited by the three corporals, herself, Feor, and a few wounded. Beyond that, a double line of rankers held stolidly to their lines, presenting an unbroken fence of bayonet points. She couldn’t see past the wall of blue-uniformed backs, but she could hear the hissing of the demons beyond.

“They’d bury us if they really tried a rush,” Graff said quietly. “They shy away from steel, thank God, but I don’t know why. Sticking them doesn’t seem to bother them any. But anytime we weaken the line, even a little, they go for it like we’ve rung the dinner bell. They nearly had us when Folsom and I went out to bring you back.”

“Why aren’t we shooting them?”

“For one thing, I can’t spare the men to load,” Graff said. “For another, it doesn’t help much. God be good, I saw one of them keep going with a hole the size of my fist right through him. They don’t die like men, so what good is throwing lead at them?”

Winter realized for the first time that Graff was scared . She’d never seen him afraid before, at least not in battle. Only a thin veneer of military professionalism held him together. And he’s a veteran. She looked around at the steady backs of the Seventh Company with a new respect.

“We can’t stay here,” she said. “They’re just waiting us out.”

“Looks that way,” Graff said. “But that’s the trick, isn’t it? That last charge was the closest we’ve gotten to the door, and I lost two men just getting that far. If we try to push all the way to the doorway we’ll be crushed.”

Two men. Winter’s throat closed again for a moment. Two men had died just to rescue her, Bobby, and Feor. She didn’t even know which two-they were just “men,” rankers, expendable assets on the strength report. She fought down an urge to ask Graff for their names. Later. If we get out of this alive.

“Bugger all the saints with bloody rolling pins,” Winter swore. It didn’t make her feel any better. “Give me a minute.”

She crawled over to where Bobby sat beside Feor, finishing her bandage. To Winter’s surprise, the Khandarai girl’s cheeks were wet with tears. Bobby caught Winter’s eye and shook her head.

“She seems all right to me, sir,” Bobby said. “Maybe she’s just scared? When that thing grabbed you I nearly screamed the roof down.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Winter said. “Are you hurt?”

“Just scratches.”

Winter nodded and sat down on the other side of Feor. The girl looked up at her, dark eyes blinking away tears.

“Does it hurt very badly?” Winter said in Khandarai.

“No,” Feor said. “Bobby is being kind. I will be fine.”

“Then-”

“Akataer. My brother.” She gestured weakly at the side of the square. “These are his creations, the product of his naath . I can feel his agony.”

“Forgive me if I don’t feel sorry for him,” Winter said, more harshly than she intended. “His demons are trying to kill us.”

“They are not demons,” Feor said. “They are dead spirits, bound to their corpses and forced to serve.”

“That sounds like a demon to me,” Winter said. “How do we kill them?”

“You cannot. They have died once already. Now the body is just a. . container. They will keep going, until. .” She hesitated, then forged on. “Until Akataer releases them, or until he dies.”

“Wonderful. Is there anything we can use against them?” Winter tried to remember her fairy tales. What works on demons? “Holy water? Silver bullets? Not that we have any. Chanting scripture?”

“You do not understand,” Feor said. “They are not demons. Not separate entities. They are part of him, part of his naath . They consume him, little by little. I have seen him tired and weak after binding a half dozen for a day’s labor. This many?” She shook her head. “He will not recover.”

“Oh,” Winter said. Feor’s tears had stopped, and she simply looked weary. Winter felt a rising blush in her cheeks, which she tried to ignore. She opened her mouth, found she had nothing to say, and closed it again. Feor lay back against the flagstones and closed her eyes.

Folsom tapped Winter on the shoulder. She turned and clambered awkwardly to her feet, legs screaming protests. He offered her the hilt of her sword.

“One of the men picked this up,” he said.

“Thanks.” Winter sheathed it. Even her hands seemed to ache. “And thanks for coming to get me.”

He shrugged. With the immediate danger gone, the big corporal seemed to have reverted to his normal taciturn persona.

“I don’t suppose you have any brilliant ideas on how to get out of here?”

Folsom shook his head. Winter sighed and limped around the inside of the square, searching for inspiration.

The men couldn’t salute, and didn’t dare take their eyes off the monsters that waited just beyond the wall of bayonets. Nevertheless, she heard their whispers underneath the omnipresent hiss of white smoke. Every second man seemed to be reassuring his fellows now that the lieutenant was here.