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MILA
The touch of cool fingers to my shoulder jerks me awake. I twist, knock the hand away, and produce a knife from beneath my pillow.
“Mila!”
The blade is effortlessly torn from my grip. I jump from my cot, heart racing, my mind pulled from dark dreams of death and apocalypse.
“Mila, it’s okay. It’s me.”
There’s a silhouette—short with muscled shoulders. Slowly, the smiling features of the Lawkshan monk appear.
“Ghofaun?”
“Maybe you’d like to put some clothes on?”
Blood rushes to my face. “I’m ... I was ... Give me a second.”
Without another word, he turns away. “I’m sorry, Mila. I only wanted to nudge you awake, not start a sparring match—with a knife, no less.”
I quickly pull on my clean garments, check them for fit and function, and snap the light switch. The room flickers to life, powered by the clanking fossil fuel generators at the end of the complex. “Sorry about the knife. I’m a little on edge these days. You can turn around.”
The monk turns toward me again, holding a tray in his hands. He’s brought me something to eat.
“Where did that come from?” I say, motioning to the tray as I sit and lace my boots.
“I’ve been holding it.”
The tray holds a plate of warm chiori with greens and a full steaming cup of krig, not a drop spilled. “You balanced a tray while standing on one leg and what? Used your foot to intercept the knife?”
He smiles.
“Incredible. You are something else.”
He extends the tray. “Breakfast?”
“Please.” I accept the tray, the smells of warm food and hot krig making my mouth water. It’s a pauper’s meal but it may as well be a feast. I tuck into the steaming food.
“How was Kahanga?”
“Well, Mos is a Kahangan prince,” I answer with a mouth full of greens. “Nazal was his brother. Stimmed-up Graciles have been trading guns for drugs there. We lost eleven fighters in the last few days. You know, just another day in paradise.”
Ghofaun nods. “Well, Mos wanting that mission so badly makes more sense now.”
“Mmm hmmm.” I take a sip of my krig.
“What’s that business with the Graciles in Kahanga?”
“I’ve got to do some more digging. Definitely not good.”
“I can tell. I passed Husniya in the hall. She has a black eye.”
“You should see the other guy. Twice her size. She did fine.”
Master Ghofaun gives a sage bow of approval.
“What about you? Where have you been?” I ask, chewing another mouthful of meat and greens.
He fingers the Lawkshan beads on his wrist, a symbol of a lifetime devoted to the ways of peace through the disciplined application of foot and fist. “I just returned from Zopat late last night. The plague is resurfacing there too.”
“Now that outbreaks have been reported in every sector of Etyom. It could get bad again. Real bad.”
Not one for too many words, my friend simply bobs his head.
“What about Faruq? Any word of him?”
Ghofaun’s lips tighten. “No, Mila. I’m sorry. There is nothing on Faruq. His trail has long since gone cold. We followed up on the rumor he was being kept in Alya by Kapka’s governor, but nothing came of it. I fear we are now chasing Chinese whispers.”
He’s trying to spare my feelings. He believes, like the others, my continued search for Faruq is in vain. But I can’t believe that—won’t believe it. “Okay, thank you. Anything else?”
“Yes, one thing. Giahi worries me. The man seems to undermine the authority of Opor’s leadership at every turn.” The monk pauses, considering his choice of words. “Just be careful, Mila. He would benefit greatly if something happened to you or Bilgi.”
“I appreciate that you care, my friend. Giahi is a big mouth and a coward, but I will keep your counsel in mind.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mila.” He turns to leave. “Will I see you for a sparring session later?”
“Oh? You haven’t had enough already?” I laugh, gathering my tray and my soiled garments.
“Never.” His eyes twinkle.
“Very well, Master Ghofaun. Husniya and I will join you later.”
“I’ll take your tray.” The monk gives a slight bow and glides from the room.
***
On the way to the Mort, past the cavernous main room, the sharp bark of Husniya’s young voice echoes off the walls. I pivot and move to the rusted door, pushing it open enough to hear the ongoing conversation in the large room beyond.
“We have to do something. Three of our people were murdered right outside our door. Doesn’t anyone care?” Husniya shouts.
“We don’t know anything about what happened,” another voice in the small crowd calls out. “What are we supposed to do?”
Squeezing through the door, I do my best to remain unseen in the shadowed rear of the cavernous space. In the center, Husniya is up on a box addressing a group of about fifteen people.
What’s she doing?
Giahi and a couple of his flunkies lean against an old piece of mining equipment. His face practically glows with amusement.
“We should send out scouts, start gathering information, root out the problem and neutralize it.” The girl waves her arms dramatically. “Anyone who wants to kill us—we must kill them first.”
The tone of the teenager’s words is disturbing. She sounds so angry. It’s easy to forget she’s the cast-out daughter of Kapka himself. Somewhere deep inside might lie the same lust for blood, the same madness.
“You’re just a girl,” someone says. “And a Musul.”
“Mos is Musul. You listen to him,” Husniya snaps back.
“Not a Musul like you,” says another. “We’ve heard enough. We need to know what we’re doing and who we’re looking for first—not run around out there chasing our tails.”
“We need to talk to Mila or Bilgi first,” says a woman near the back of the group.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Get down, Musul.”
“Get down! Get down!” The group chants as a red-faced Husniya jabs an angry finger at them.
Enough of this.
Moving quickly forward, I reach up, grab her arm and pull her down from the box. The crowd laughs. Shame burns in the teenager’s face.
“Listen up.” I hold my hands up to quiet the crowd. “We’re working on it. We’ve already dispatched scouts to gain more information. When we know something we’ll take action, not before.” I cast a glance at the furious teenage girl next to me. “But for the record, being a Musul has nothing to do with anything. The next time I hear someone carelessly dropping racial slurs, you and I are going to get to know each other better. Got it?”
More grumbling.
“Good. Until then, let’s get back to work. We all have a part to play here.” I clap my hands. “Let’s go. Back to work.”
The crowd complains but disperses, wandering out of the room back to their assignments. Giahi is the last to leave, a smirk plastered across his ugly mug.
I turn to Husniya. “Are you trying to start a riot?”
“I’m trying to take action. Which is more than anyone else is doing.”
“Now is not the time to play hero.”
“What is it time for, then?” she snaps. “We should be doing something, Mila. Not just sitting around.” She pinches her eyes shut. “No, I don’t need you. I’m fine,” she mumbles under her breath.
“No one is sitting around, Husniya.” I look at the girl long and hard. “We all have important jobs to do. We will act when the time is right. Leave the running of this group to the leadership.”
“Fine. You’re the boss, I guess.” She grabs her bag from the floor and storms through the heavy doors, disappearing into the main hallway beyond.
Adolescents. Think they know sarding everything.
Still, Husniya is different. No, I don’t need you. I’m fine.
It’s easy to forget she has a voice too—Margarida. Her voice wasn’t hostile in the way Vedmak was, but she’s done such a good job of hiding it, I thought perhaps the spirit had left her.
Need to speak with her about it once she’s calm.
***
The sealed door into the mort chamber pushes open and the stench of decay fills my throat. Don’t stay too long, Mila, or you’ll never get that smell out of your clothes. The portly attendant, who has dragged three large bundles to the edge of the chute, looks up. Covered in layers of heavy clothing smeared with filth, he wears gloves, goggles, and a mask over his face.
What’s his name, again?
“Hang on a second, uh ...” I say, holding up my hand.
“Beran,” he says. “I was about to shunt these three.”
He doesn’t get many visitors in here, and for good reason.
“Yeah, hang on for a second, Beran. I need to look them over.”
He scrunches up his face. “But I just got them bundled and they’re starting to stink.”
I gaze at the fat man until he gets I’m serious.
“Ugh. Okay,” he says, grabbing the first bundle. “Hold on to your breakfast. It’s bad.”
Such an odd fellow. My eyes follow him as he works. “Do you like this? The bodies, I mean?”
“No. Feel like I could catch the plague at any moment.”
“Were you told to do this job?”
“I volunteered. I don’t have a trade and I hate violence.” He works on untying the first bundle. "This keeps me out of the fighting.”
“And instead has you dealing with the mess that follows.” I peer into the body chute. A mine shaft leading down into some unknown chasm below.
“I suppose so.” He unties the sheet and drapes it open, sending a fresh wave of the stench in my direction. I flinch, my eyes watering at the powerful odor of death, and bury my face into the crease of my elbow. He quickly unwraps the other two blood-soaked bundles and throws the sheets open.
“Sweet Moses,” I gasp, trying not to turn away, unable to pull my arm from my face.
The remains can hardly be identified as human. I crouch to get a closer look, gazing upon the grizzly piles, searching for what I’m supposed to see here when Beran speaks up.
“Want to know what I think is strange?”
“Please.” My words are muffled by the sleeve across my mouth and nose.
“Look at this here and here.” He points to a neck no longer supporting a head. “A wild animal would tear it off. Even Rippers hacking with their weapons would leave a jagged cut. But on each of these, the line is straight, the wound bubbled over and smooth.”
“What would do that, Beran?” I take a step back.
“Maybe a flaming blade, hot from the forge?”
“Out in a blizzard? That makes no sense.”
“I don’t know, Mila. I can only tell you what it’s not. It’s not an animal attack, and it’s not a normal wound inflicted by the sort of weapons we use.”
“Yeah.” I cough. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
