Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

She felt the feather touch of Bo’s gloved fingers on her cheek and then he pulled away.

They sat in silence for some time, listening to the wind rush across the open field. Somewhere nearby an owl hooted in the darkness. Bo stood up suddenly and removed his jacket, putting it over Nila’s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“I can hear your teeth chattering.”

She could see the white of his Privileged gloves standing out against the black of the night as he walked down the hill. Struggling against the nausea, she opened her third eye. Was he touching the Else?

The color of his body in the Else nearly overwhelmed her with its brightness. He spread his arms and she waited to see something more, but he just stood there, his face in the wind.

“Bo!” she hissed.

He came back up the hill toward her. “Hmm?”

“I saw it! A movement.”

“Where?”

“To the southeast. Moving along the dip between hills. At least, I thought I saw it. Maybe–”

“No.” Bo’s voice was grim, and she heard him crack his knuckles. “I saw it too. Stay here.”

He headed off in the direction where she’d seen the ever-so-soft glow in the Else, striding with the confidence of a man in daylight despite the darkness. She took a few nervous breaths, feeling even more alone in the windy darkness. She looked toward the Adran camp, watching the distant embers of their fires, and wished once more she were in the safety and warmth of her own bedroll.

Bo would say that there was no place safe for a Privileged.

Had he told her to stay behind to spare her the horrors of watching him torture some poor soul? Or because he thought she was weak?

Perhaps both.

She was a Privileged, he’d told her. She couldn’t afford to be weak to survive in this world. With the power of sorcery came the expectations of others. People would expect her to use her powers – for king or country or wealth. People would try to use her. She wondered if her own power would give her hungers. Not just the sexual urgings Bo had spoken of but the hunger for riches, servants, and authority.

The fear of it niggled at her. What could she do? Flee to some distant land and hope that no one ever noticed her? Or learn to control her sorcery, embrace the power it brought her? She didn’t want to be an evil person, yet Bo spoke of Privileged as if they had no choice. She felt as if there were a war inside of her already and that it would determine the kind of person she would be.

Bo, she realized, was in the throes of that very same war.

Nila climbed to her feet. Bo was cresting the next hill, moving farther away. She opened her third eye but could no longer spot the moving shadow of light in the Else. Bo was hidden as well, veiled in whatever trick he’d spoken of earlier.

She closed her third eye and stumbled after him, feeling her way in the dark.

She caught up to him a quarter of a mile and a twisted ankle later, limping up to where he crouched in the long grass. She could feel the intensity as he stared into the darkness like a cave lion stalking its prey. Without turning his head, he whispered, “What is it?”

“I should stay with you.”

A hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Whoever he is, he’s coming right at us. Don’t touch the Else – I’m going to trip him with earth and bind him with air, but my sorcery will be obscured from any Knacked that might be watching. You don’t know how to do any of that, so stay here until I have him.”

Nila hunkered down next to Bo, her knees wet from the grass. From the way Bo was facing, she guessed that the spy was traveling in the gully between two hills. She couldn’t see a thing, however, and waited for Bo to make his move.

She didn’t have to wait long. His arms suddenly came up, two shadows in the night, and she thought she saw a spark when his fingers danced. There was a cry in the gully beneath them that was cut dramatically short, and Bo leapt to his feet. “Come on!” They stumbled down the hill and Bo threw himself forward. “Hold still, damn it. You’re not going anywhere.” Several muffled grunts followed and then the area was suddenly lit by the beam of a dull light not unlike a bull’s-eye lantern. It originated from Bo’s shoulder and revealed Bo struggling with a small figure.

“It’s only a boy!” Nila said before she could stop herself. Could they have caught the wrong person? Just some innocent messenger, or maybe even a drummer boy who’d decided to run away from the camp?

Bo gave her a dirty look and flipped the boy onto his back. Hands and legs bound by invisible sorcery, the boy thrashed on the ground like an earthbound fish. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, with a narrow nose and long brown hair tied back behind his head. He wore a plain black uniform with matching kneesocks, boots, and jacket.

Bo stood up, one finger pointed at the boy as if he were pinning a fly to the ground beneath him, and seemed content to let the boy tire himself out for several minutes.

Nila stepped up beside Bo. “He’s just a boy,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know that.”

“Are you going to torture him?”

“If I must.”

“You were a boy once too.”

“And I had to learn when to grow up.”

The coldness in his words shocked her. “Let me at him first.”

He blinked at her several times before gesturing to the boy magnanimously. “Be my guest.”

“Give me an extra pair of gloves.”

Pulling on the gloves, she knelt next to the boy and held them up to Bo’s light. “Do you know what these are?”

The boy nodded fearfully.

“You’ve the unfortunate luck to fall into the hands of two Privileged. Answer our questions truthfully and we’ll let you go. Lie to us, and we’ll take turns scouring the flesh from your bones so that there is nothing left of you but a charred shell come morning. I can make certain that no one will hear your screams.” She leaned in close to his face. “And no one will help you. Do you understand?”

The boy’s mouth worked, but no sound came forth.

Nila glanced over her shoulder at Bo. “Sorry,” Bo muttered. One finger twitched.

“Let’s try that again,” Nila said. “Do you understand?”

“Yes!” the boy gasped. “I do!”

“Good. What is your name?”

“Folkrot.”

“Unfortunate name,” Bo muttered just loud enough for Nila to hear.

She compressed her lips in a hard line to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’ve run off from my unit.” The words had barely left his mouth when Bo’s fingers twitched and Folkrot gave a terrified squeal. “I’m sorry! I mean, I’m delivering a message.”

Nila tried to keep her composure. Could Bo really sense if he was lying? Or was he testing the boy? “For whom?” she asked.

“General Hilanska.”

“Where were you taking it?”

“To the Kez lines. I’m meant to be there by morning.”

“And what kind of message are you delivering?”

“I don’t know! It’s a sealed letter. I’m not allowed to open it.” Another squeal, and Folkrot writhed from some unseen twisting of sorcery. “I swear to you it’s true!”

Nila slapped Bo’s leg and the boy instantly stopped moving. “Where is the letter?”

“Under my shirt.”

Nila bent forward and undid the front of the boy’s jacket, then lifted his shirt. Strapped to his white belly just below his ribs was a leather satchel. She removed it and handed it to Bo.

Bo stepped away from her and the boy and opened the letter. He stared at it for several minutes before beckoning Nila over.

“It’s coded,” Bo said. “Damn it. It doesn’t help us.” He walked around in a circle for a moment before stopping. “The Wings of Adom employ several code breakers. They’ve fought in just about every country in the world. Their camp isn’t far. We can get there by late morning if we walk all night.”