Daniel Abraham - An Autumn War

without number. She had seen the highest of the utkhaicm sitting with

metalsmiths and common armsmcn. She had heard one of the famed choirs of

h~Iachi softly singing its Candles Night hymns.'1'he rules of society

had been suspended, and the human solidarity beneath it moved her to weep.

She and Kiyan had taken the news first to the Khai Cetani and the

captains of the battle that had once turned the Galts aside. When the

plans had come from Otah's small Council-where to place men, how to

resist the Galts as they tried to overrun the city-the Khai Cetani had

emerged with the duties of arming and armoring the men who could fight.

As the underground city was emptied of anything that could be used as a

weapon-hunting arrows, kitchen knives, even lengths of leather and

string cut from beds and fashioned into slings-Liar had seen children

too young to fight and men and women too old or frail or ill packed into

side galleries, the farthest from the fighting. Cots lined the walls,

piled with blankets. In some places, there were thick doors that could

be closed and pegged from the inside. 'T'hough If the Galts ever came

this far, it would hardly matter how difficult it was to open the doors.

Everything would already be lost.

Kiyan had made the physicians her personal duty-preparing one of the

higher galleries for the care of the wounded and dying who would he

coming back before the day's end. They'd managed seventy beds and

scavenged piles of cloth high as a man's waist, ready to pack wounds.

Bottles of distilled wine stood ready to case pain and clean cuts. A

firekeeper's kiln, cauterizing irons already glowing in its maw, had

been pulled in and the air was rich with the scent of poppy milk cooking

to the black sludge that would take away pain at one spoonful and grant

mercy with two. Liat walked between the empty beds, imagining them as

they would shortly be-canvas soaked with gore. And still the panic

didn't come.

By the entrance, one of the physicians was talking in a calm voice to

twenty or so girls and boys no older than Eiah, too young to fight, but

old enough to help care for the wounded. Kiyan was nowhere to he found,

and Liat wasn't sure whether she was pleased or dismayed.

She sat on one of the beds and let her eyes close. She had not slept all

the long night. She wouldn't sleep until the battle was ended. Which

meant, of course, that she might never sleep again. The thought carried

a sense of unreality that was, she thought, the essential mood of the

city. This couldn't be happening. People went about the things that

needed doing with a numb surprise that hell had bloomed up in the world.

The men in their improvised leather armor and sharpened fire irons could

no more fathom that there would be no tomorrow for them than Liat could.

And so they were capable of walking, of speaking, of eating food. If

they had been given time to understand, the Galts wouldn't have faced

half the fight that was hefore them now.

"Mama-kya!" a man's voice said close at hand. Nayiit's. Liat's eyes flew

open.

lie stood in the aisle between beds, his eyes wide. I)anat, paleskinned

and frightened, clung to her boy's robes.

"What are you doing still here?" Liat said.

"Eiah," Nayiit said. "I can't find Eiah. She was in her rooms, getting

dressed, but when I came back with Danat-cha, she was gone. She isn't at

the cart. I thought she might he here. I can't leave without her."

"You should have left before the sun rose," Liat said, standing up. "You

have to leave now."

"But Eiah-"

"You can't wait for her," Liat said. "You can't stay here."

I)anat began to cry, a high wailing that echoed against the high tiled

ceiling and seemed to fill the world. Nayiit crouched and tried to calm

the boy. Liat felt something warm and powerful unwind in her breast.

Rage, perhaps. She hauled her son up by his shoulder and leaned in close.

"Leave her," she said. "Leave the girl and get out of this city now. I)o

you understand me?"

"I promised Kiyan-cha that I'd-"

"You can't keep it girl fourteen summers old from being stupid. No one

can. She made her decision when she left you."

"I promised that I'd look after them," Naviit said.

"'Then save the one you can," Liat said. "And do it now, before you lose

that chance too."

Nayiit blinked in something like surprise and glanced down at the

still-wailing boy. I Its expression hardened and he took it pose of apology.

"You're right, \lother. I wasn't thinking."

"Go. Now," Ifiat said. "loo don't have much time."

"I want nay sister!" I)anat howled.

"She's going to meet its there," Nayiit said, and then swept the boy up

in his arms with it grunt. I)anat-eyes puffy and red, snot streaming

from his nose-pulled back to stare at Nayiit with naked mistrust. Nayiit

smiled his charming smile. His father's smile. Otah's. "It's going to he

fine, I)anat-kya. Your mama and papa and your sister. They'll meet its

at the cave. But we have to leave now."

"No they won't," the boy said.

"You watch," Nayiit said, lying cheerfully. "You'll sec. F,iah's

probably there already."

"But we have the cart."

"Yes, good thought," Nayiit said. "Let's go see the cart."

lie leaned over, awkward with his burden of boy, and kissed Hat.

"I'll do better," he murmured.

You're perfect, Hat wanted to say. You've always been the perfect boy.

But Nayiit was rushing away now, his robes billowing behind him as he

sped to the end of the gallery, I)anat still on his hip, and turned to

the North and vanished toward the back halls and the cart and the North

where if the gods could hear Liat's prayers, they would be safe.

I lot si: SnY:AN l HAD OFFERED VP IFS wAREnot SES FOR ILP. kttnuiM-

Machi and Cetani together-to use as their commandery. Five stories high

and well back from the edge of the city, the wide, gently sloped roof

had as clear a view of the streets as anything besides the great towers

themselves. A passage led from the lower warehouse on the street level

into the underground should there he a need to retreat into that

shelter. In the great empty space-the warehouse emptied of its

wares-Nlaati wrote the text of his binding on the smooth stone wall,

pausing occasionally to rub his hands together and try to calm his

unquiet mind. A stone stair led tip to the second-floor snow doors,

which stood open to let the sun in until they were ready to light the

dozen glass lanterns that lined the walls. The air blew in bitterly cold

and carried a few stray flakes of hard snow that had found their way

down from the sky.

Ideally, Alaati would have spent the last day meditating on the

binding-holding the nuances of each passage clear in his mind, creating

step-by-step the mental structure that would become the andat. Ile had

done his best, drinking black tea and reading through his outline for

Corrupting-the-Generative. The binding looked solid. I Ic thought he

could hold it in his mind. With months or weeks-perhaps even days-he

could have been sure. But this morning he felt scattered. The hot metal

scent of the brazier, the wet smell of the snow, the falling gray

snowflakes against a sky of white, the scuffing of Cehmai's feet against

the stone floor, and the occasional distant call of trumpet and drum as

the armsmen and defenders of Nlachi took their places-everything seemed

to catch his attention. And he could not afford distraction.