LORIANE SAT dazed, crammed on the platform amongst the press of stinking bodies. The Chevakian leader had come and gone. He had spoken with some of the soldiers, gesturing as if telling them what to do. He had gone upstairs, where she could still see him through a window. He took off the helmet that made him look like a bug. Underneath, his hair was curly, short and greying at the temples. Loriane liked his face; he looked like someone who would care.
But now he was gone, and one of the Chevakian soldiers yelled, and some semblance of quiet fell in the crowded hall. It looked like something was about to happen.
A suited Chevakian came up the stairs in the company of two young men without suits. One was tall and lanky, with long black hair hanging down both sides of a narrow face, the other was broader and shorter, and wore his hair short.
Someone seated close to Loriane muttered, “Who are they? Were they on the train?”
“No way,” someone else said. “They’re too clean.”
“They’re Knights,” someone else said, and someone else made a shushing noise.
“How do they dare to show their faces? The Knights caused this trouble. They should hide in shame,” Dara said, a bit too loud for Loriane’s liking.
Ontane said, “Shut your trap, woman, if you want to survive.”
For once, Loriane agreed with him. Because surely, the Knights had fled the City of Glass on their eagles, and they only had to wait at the end of the train line for all the city’s surviving citizens to show up, and they would look very carefully for supporters of the old king. Who knew how many of the Knights had survived?
“I don’t care who they are. I just hope this means we can get out of here,” Myra said, patting little Beido on his backside.
Beyond her, Ruko cradled Tandor in his lap, his hand stroking the ravaged skin. There was something eerily mechanical about the gesture. Loriane didn’t think Ruko had ever done something like that before. His eyes were distant, focused on the two southerners, and the expression in them chilling.
“Ruko?” Loriane said.
He turned towards her, and she thought she saw a glint of fire in those black eyes, something that said, don’t interrupt. He went back to staring at the two men, one of whom was now clambering on a chair which a Chevakian guard had brought.
“Citizens!” he called out. “Citizens, listen to me.”
There was more grumbling in the audience. Citizens was a word most often used by Knights when speaking to the public.
“I have a message from the Chevakians.”
“When will they let us out of here?” someone at the front yelled.
Someone else added, “We don’t want speeches. We want food!”
People close to Loriane stirred. Someone muttered, “We were hoping to get away from the Knights, not to be bullied by them again.”
A number of people agreed with this, so Loriane couldn’t hear what the man at the front said.
“. . . The Chevakian army is setting up a camp for everyone here. They have food. They have medicines. They will take care of you. Shortly, they will send some vehicles and will need us to divide into groups of about thirty people each so they can be transferred in orderly fashion. Please give consideration to the ill and feeble first, to wounded, elderly, pregnant and the very young. Any of you who have places to go to in this city, relatives or friends they can stay with, let us know. The Chevakian authorities have informed us that resources are stretched and that they will do their best to help us, but the fewer of us need help, the better.”
“Who do you think you are?” a voice sounded from the back of the audience. Everyone turned around.
One of the men who identified himself clearly as Brothers of the Light had risen.
Someone closer to him yelled support.
“We’ve come here all the way to be free of the tyranny wrought upon us by the rulers of the City of Glass. We don’t need the Knights to tell us what to do. Think for yourselves, people, and accept what you think is fair. The Chevakians are providing tents for us, but they don’t know who we are and who our leaders are. This is the chance, do you realise, to get freedom from the dictators who have ruled us for so many years. They . . .” He pointed at the two young Knights, who were making their way towards him. “They want us to obey. They want everything to continue as before. They want us to meekly submit to their regime of secrecy and misinformation. Do you want that? Don’t you, like most of us, think that it is time the Knights came clear about what actually happened back there in the City of Glass? Don’t you think it is time for the people to have a say in how the City of Glass is governed?”
Most of the grumbling had died down. The people were staring at him. Someone at the front yelled, “I don’t care where it comes from, as long as we get food.”
A woman close to Loriane said, “You mean, he thinks there is a chance we’ll be able to go back home?” She was a noblewoman, in her middle age, who had somehow ended up caring for a group of six adolescents who couldn’t possibly all be her children.
Loriane had wondered if Tandor had been the only Thilleian descendant to have collected children with abilities to see and bend icefire. He might have collected the most, but he was not the only one. Were they organised through this Brotherhood? She had thought that all they did was collect books and educate orphans.
On her other side, Ontane muttered, “They better be quiet, or there be trouble, I tell you. If they go against the Knights—”
The noblewoman turned to him. “Maybe then it’s time to go against the Knights and tell them we won’t stand for this anymore.” Her expression was fierce.
“I agree,” Dara said. Her voice was determined.
“But . . .” Ontane turned to his wife, an astonished expression on his face. “Dear, don’t you think . . .”
“Don’t ye ‘dear’ me, husband. Ye’ve been calling me ‘woman’ all these years, and I’ve had to come with you all the way to Chevakia to see what a selfish coward ye really be. Back home, when they came to our door, I wasn’t allowed to give any of our food to these people. We had to hide. We had to get out so they wouldn’t follow us. And you know what? Here we be, surrounded by them anyway. These people be our family. The Knights have ruined the lives of all of us, and I’ll no longer stand for it.”
“Dara!”
Myra stared at her mother, her mouth open.
“The man be right. We should do something, or the Knights will just treat us like they’ve treated us before. They will not speak to the Chevakians on our behalf.”
“And you want to make an example of your family?”
A man in front turned around and said, “Look, I really don’t care about politics right now. I’d rather hear what the fellow is saying so we can get food.”
Many others agreed with him.
The two Knights were making their way through the audience, but people were deliberately getting in their way.
The man in black still stood there, defiant. He yelled, “Remember, you do not need to do what the Knights tell you to do. This is not the City of Glass. Demand to see the Queen.”
“Yes,” someone yelled. “Where is the Queen?”
“Show us the Queen,” a woman yelled at the Knights. “If she is safe, we’ll believe you.”
“The Queen, we want the Queen.”
Other voices took up the chant. “Jevaithi, Jevaithi.”
The Knights gave each other a nervous glance.
“Jevaithi, Jevaithi!”
One of them reached for his crossbow. The other put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Jevaithi, Jevaithi, Jevaithi.”
A couple of refugee men rose, much closer to the Knights. The crowd was chanting so loudly now that Loriane could no longer hear what they said, but the Knights backed away, first slowly, and then faster as the men followed. Under loud jeers and chants, the two disappeared down the stairs.
People cheered, including Dara, who rose and jumped around with the noblewoman and her six foster children.
It took a while for the crowd to calm down, but eventually, some Chevakians in suits came up the stairs and moved onto the platform. They pointed and waved, stepped over legs and luggage, and picked people out of the crowd and helped them towards the front. A couple of people with injuries, a few elderly nobles, all dirty and dishevelled, the young woman Loriane had seen on the train who was also pregnant. Many people needed to be carried.
“Get out of the way,” someone yelled. “They’re taking out the people most in need.”
People shuffled aside so that the Chevakians could walk between them.
“You go sit at the front with the sorcerer, Mistress Loriane,” Ontane said, while pushing Loriane in the back.
Soon enough, a soldier approached the area where Loriane and Ontane and the family sat.
He took one look at Tandor and flinched.
He said something, which sounded funny inside the suit, and beckoned forward.
Ruko rose, and picked up Tandor.
Ontane rose as well.
Dara hissed at him, “It be just the injured they want. Can’t see anything wrong with you.”
Ontane pointed. “The others be bringing their families.”
That was true.
“We’re not family,” Myra said.
“He be my brother,” Ontane said.
Loriane felt like shouting, You selfish liar! but she liked Myra and didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the crowd, or lose sight of her. In a way, they had become family. Besides, little Beido needed fluids and Myra’s milk was drying up.
“Come on, women, let’s go.” Ruko and Tandor were already walking down the cleared path.
Myra’s eyes met Loriane’s, apologetic. Loriane shrugged. Not that Myra could help having such a selfish man for a father.
Dara held out a hand to assist Loriane up. There was thunder on her face.
“No matter what ye be thinking about us now, in your city ways, mistress, I did not choose to marry him.”
“It’s all right, Dara, really.” Loriane cringed with embarrassment.
Dara grumbled, “No, it bain’t.”
Ontane whirled. “I heard that, woman. Can ye for once do what they say and stop making me feel stupid?”
“Yeah?” Dara turned to her husband. Her cheeks were red and her eye the most alive Loriane had seen. “Ye be stupid. Ye be an embarrassment to me. Ye be a coward, a selfish prick and a petty whinger. If this be time for a change, let’s have a change: I will no longer be bullied by ye, and I will no longer call ye my husband.”
Ontane looked like someone had slapped him in the face. “Dara, please stop being ridi—”
“I mean it.”
“Stop it, you two!” Myra yelled. All around them, people were staring.
“No.” Dara folder her arms across her chest. “I’ve had enough.”
“Shut up. You’re making me feel ridiculous.” Myra’s voice cracked.
Ontane said in a low voice, “Your mother be just angry. She’ll forget this when she calms down.”
“I’m serious.”
“Dara, dear, please stop—”
“I’m serious.”
“Can we just keep walking?” Myra said. “We’re holding everyone up.”
Ontane gave a glowering look and stomped off. A few women gave Dara victory signs.
Dara balled her fist. And Loriane felt a pang of jealousy for this woman, who had the courage to do what she herself should have done long ago: tell her lover to fuck off. In a way, she felt the explosion was her fault, because she had provided Tandor with a safe place to stay in the City of Glass.
They made their way to the front of the crowd, where a broad set of steps led out of the station. A flimsy barrier had been erected, and on the other side Chevakian guards paraded in neat brown uniforms.
The square outside the building was completely empty. Loriane gaped at the amazing buildings made of stone. There were carved columns and sloping roofs, wide stairs, ornate railings and paved courtyards. Trees grew in little square bits of ground that had been left uncovered, in neat rows.
They waited.
Then, from the other side of the platform came a vehicle Chevakians called a truck. It was a big thing, much bigger than any of the farm vehicles they had seen so far, but smaller than the train. The cabin, with window, sat in front of a large barrel, from which rose a chimney belching smoke, and behind the barrel was a covered trailer. Both its metal surface and the cloth cover were dark as the night.
The vehicle came up to where the refugees were waiting, and stopped. A suited soldier got out and spoke to the soldiers who had been waiting with the refugees. One went and opened the back of the canopy. He beckoned.
The line of soldiers opened up and the first injured refugees shuffled towards the truck.
Two more suited figures in the truck helped the refugees climb onto the loading tray.
When it was the family’s turn, Ontane went up first and helped Myra; he tried to help Dara, but she refused his hand and climbed up herself, and then held out a hand for Loriane.
As Loriane stepped onto the narrow ladder, a stab went through her belly worse than she had yet felt. She cried out and stumbled back.
Gloved hands stopped her falling.
She stood there, clutching her belly, swaying and panting. Oh, by the skylights.
“What is it? The babe coming?” Myra asked, looking down from the truck.
Loriane couldn’t reply for the pain. She clamped her teeth to stop yelling out. Was it possible to forget how much this hurt? Two Chevakians in suits picked her up and wrestled her up the ladder. By the time she was in the truck, the pain had abated.
There were mattresses inside the trailer for the worst injured. Ruko had put Tandor on one of them, and he sat at the edge, again stroking Tandor’s forehead.
Someone in a suit, a woman by the sound of her voice, guided Loriane to a bench that surrounded the perimeter of the trailer and indicated that she should sit down. Two men shuffled aside, looking at Loriane as if she had the plague.
There was no room for Ontane, Dara or Myra to sit.
Soon all the mattresses were taken by wounded.
A Chevakian pushed up a panel that closed the bottom half of the opening at the back of the trailer.
The vehicle growled and jumped into motion, which set off another stab to her belly. Loriane grabbed onto the edge of the bench waiting for it to pass. Sweat rolled down her face into her neck.
By the skylights, she wished that this truck would hurry up.