Two more days had passed by, and both Mai and Ishad had spent much of that time in a carriage built for three horses, that now only rode with two.

Whether the lands they traveled were Vedil or Makini, it was unclear. All the towns they passed on their way hoped the Vedil would save them, but were resigned to their fate. In the first few towns, Makini occupation troops were everywhere, but as they passed through more and more land, the Makini disappeared. But even without them, no Vedil had hope.

That second night, they slept in a forest, even though there was a town nearby. Their status, as travelers through a war zone, had begun to attract much attention, so Broken had decreed they would only spend every other night in a town, to reduce their visibility.

Food rations were low, and after the meal, Ishad retired early. He had still not completely recovered from what had happened, though he was much, much better.

After the meal, Mai practiced her technique with Broken. He still wore both swords, a constant reminder of what had caused the occurrence.

After they were done sparring, they both sat down, and Mai felt like asking the question she and Ishad had come up with two days ago.

Before Mai could do, so, however, an owl hooted, and Broken’s attention shifted to the animal. Yet again, Broken’s eyes darted to its location in but a moment, and Mai, her eyes following his, joined Broken in looking at the bird on the branch.

“What’s so special about the owl?” she asked. “We’ve both seen them before, and you most likely far more often than me.”

“Not all animals are what they seem,” said Broken. “And that bird is not what it seems. It is the same one that hooted down on us two days ago.”

“How do you know it’s the same bird?” asked Mai.

“The owl is jet black, and larger than most,” said Broken. “And beyond that, it perches in a very particular way.”

“So what does it matter that the owl was following us?” asked Mai. “It’s just an owl.”

Broken was silent for a moment, staring at it.

“Right?” Mai asked.

“Wrong,” said Broken. “How often does an owl sit exactly the same distance away from the same party, twice in a week?”

“It’s exactly the same distance away?” asked Mai.

“Indeed,” said Broken. “The owl was trained. It is spying on us.”

“For who?” asked Mai.

“The Makini.”

“But they think us dead!”

“Indeed they do,” said Broken. “But they sent out an owl looking for those of our description, just in case. Quite thoughtful of them, considering none of us really are dead in the slightest.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Mai.

“The bird has yet to go back to its handlers, to report,” said Broken. “If I have my way, it will never do such.”

“You’re going to kill it?” asked Mai.

“No,” said Broken. ‘Watch.”

He stood up, and began to hoot, just as an owl. Mai would not have been able to tell the difference, had she not been looking at him.

And the owl flew down from its branch, landing on Broken’s outstretched arm. With the bird still perched there, and seemingly in no hurry to go away, Broken sat down beside Mai again, once more.

“That’s amazing,” said Mai.

“Don’t thank me,” said Broken. “Thank the bird. When animals are intelligent, that just makes the whole process that much easier.”

Mai thought back to Aruith. “You are quite good with animals, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m quite good with everything,” said Broken, seemingly without humility. “But, yes, I do have a talent in this area.”

The owl fluttered over from Broken’s left arm to his right, the one closer to Mai. She edged away, ever so slightly.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Broken. With those words, the owl looked into his eyes, and Broken stared right back. “What do they call you?” he asked it, softly.

“They call you Sleep, don’t they?” said Broken. “But what, Great Black Owl, do you call yourself?”

The owl stamped a claw on Broken’s leathered arm. It then twisted its head all the way backwards.

“They can do that?” Mai whispered.

“Then can make another quarter turn, if they really want to,” said Broken, not looking away from the bird. “Ah,” he said. “Your name, in our language, is Claw-Back. The Makini never called you that, did they?”

The bird shook its head no, in a very human like fashion. It then looked at Mai once more, and she, for the first time, realized how big it was. The owl was as large as Broken’s entire chest.

“No,” said Broken. “She can’t talk to you like I can. But I’ll be your partner. I’m sorry you can’t go on your own. You can stay with me, and I promise you’ll be cared for.”

“The owl can’t go out to the wild?” asked Mai. “It certainly looks big enough to survive on its own.”

“She is, indeed,” said Broken. “But she is a special breed, twisted by Makini magic. The Great Blacks are larger than their wild cousins, and much more beautiful,” said Broken. “But the magic also means that if she does not commune with a human every seven days, she will die. If she does not want to go back to the Makini, and she wants to live, which she does, she must stay with us.”

“How intelligent is Claw-Back, anyway?” asked Mai, as the bird continued to look at her.”

“The intelligence of an owl cannot be directly compared with that of a human,” said Broken. “But Claw-Black is sentient, or self-aware, and is more bright than many men who walk this Empire.”

The owl hooted.

“Sadly,” said Broken, “the spells used to bring her into awakening are only known by the Makini, just as the spells to make a golem are. Other Houses know how to turn other birds into sentient messengers, but Great Black Owls are solely of the Makini. Except, now, for Claw-Back here.”

Claw-Back let out several hoots.

“She tells me there are few wild owls captured and made anymore,” said Broken. “She was born of two other Great Blacks.”

“How do you know what she is saying?” asked Mai.

“The Makini invented a language for their birds to speak,” said Broken. “On my travels, I learned it.”

Mai didn’t know what else to say. “I’ll leave you to her, then,” she said.

The owl peered at her.

“She obviously doesn’t like me,” said Mai.

“It’s not that,” said Broken. “It’s just that people like you, who she can understand, but not speak with without an interpreter, remind her of how the Makini made her straddle two worlds, the world of the owl, and the world of the human.”

The owl hooted a little more.

“Claw-Back says that in all her time as a messenger and spy for the Makini, she never wanted to serve them. She simply didn’t want the seven days to pass without contact. All she wanted to do was live.”

A peculiar feeling came to Mai as she realized the owl was talking to her, and all Broken was doing was translating.

“I understand,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to live like that.”

The owl made a few more noises.

“She says that it’s all in the past,” said Broken. “With me, she has a feeling that things will be better.”

Broken reached up a hand, and petted the owl.

“I’ll go now,” said Mai, awkwardly. And so she left, heading over to where Ishad slept.

When Mai came over, Ishad half-woke from his sleep. “What’s going on?” he asked her.

“Broken got himself a sentient pet owl.”

Sleep.

In the morning, they were off again. Mai and Ishad got inside the cart, and the owl flew off somewhere. Unlike other owls, it didn’t seem to mind that is was daylight.

Mai trusted Broken to head them down the quickest path to Asan Paril, but that day, looking through the carriage windows, it seemed as if they were heading into lands even more in turmoil than the ones they had already gone through. Buildings were destroyed, and there were few people to be found.

Eventually, they reached a few soldiers in Vedil colors, standing in the road. Broken stopped the carriage. Through the window, Mai heard the dialogue.

“You should not be traveling on this road,” said one of the soldiers.

“And why not?” asked Broken. “I, and those who are with me, are civilians. We are safe from those who obey the rules of honor.” There was then the sound of Broken patting one of his swords. “And those who do not obey said rules, I can deal with.”

“Well, all right then, sir,” said the soldier. “If that is what you believe, we’ll not stop you.”

“We just must warn you though,” said another soldier. “We, here, will probably be the last shred of normality you’ll see in a long time.”

At that, all the Vedil laughed.

“I’ll take my chances,” said Broken. “Step away from the carriage.”

And so the Vedil did. And so they rode on.

On that road no others traveled, Mai saw carrion birds circle in the sky, and she got a bad feeling.

Then, she heard Broken say, “Get out of the carriage, right now!”

Mai and Ishad did so. They stood on a desolate plain, between clumps of forest. But from those clumps, on either side, soldiers were appearing.

“What are you doing?” said Mai. “There’s going to be a battle here in a few minutes. We can’t stop!”

But they had, at the side of a small earthen embankment.

Deftly, quickly, Broken loaded the supplies on Stride, and Swift. Mai got on Swift, and Ishad and Broken got on Stride. And now, they rode on their horses, dragging the cart along with them.

As they pressed their horses to head away from the soon-to-be battlefield, Mai realized that Broken had actually saved time. Riding on the horses seemed to be faster then riding in the carriage.

Out of nowhere, Broken’s owl swooped down, and landed on his shoulder. And they continued. They reached the forest before the battle began, but barely, just barely.

And then, and arrow whizzed just in front of her.

“They’re in the forest,” Mai cried.

“There’s only one thing to do,” said Broken, halting the horses in front of a huge oak tree. “We must stop. If they realize we are still, they will know us to be noncombatants, and not attack.”

By the huge oak tree, Broken unhitched the horses from the carriage. He sat them down in the small space between the tree and the carriage.

Then he, Ishad, and Mai got inside.

Mai looked out the window, and she began to see horror. Vedil soldiers, knowing that the carriage and its inhabitants had just gotten caught up in the fighting, paid them no heed, rushing past the carriage, under cover of arrow fire.

From a distance, Mai heard screaming.

And then the counterattack began. For every purple-colored Vedil Mai saw in the forest, Mai saw two black-clad Makini running at them. Everyone on the forest floor seemed to have a sword or a spear, and all of the weapons were in use. All around the carriage, even as they ignored it, men killed each other.

“What is this?” asked Mai, even though she knew, looking away from the window.

“You know what this is,” said Broken.

“Can you close the window shade?” said Mai, not looking back. “Please?”

“I apologize,” said Broken, “but as much I cannot do. I must see how the battle progresses, to see if we are ever in danger.”

Mai understood him, and yet did not at the same time. How could anyone have a desire to look at that? Mai glanced at Ishad and saw that he, like she, had turned away from the window.

“I have a question,” said Broken. “Mai, Ishad, why do you avert your eyes? Why do you look away from danger, when it will still be there, even if you do not look?” It sounded no Mai as if Broken was actually curious. Through the fighting, though the death, he managed to be curious.

“I…I don’t know,” said Mai, for in truth she really didn’t. However, when she averted her eyes, things just seemed better that way.

“If the same horrors will come, or not come,” said Ishad, speaking much more eloquently, “why bother too look?”

“Because looking begets information,” said Broken, “and information can help one find a way out of horror.”

“But we don’t need to worry about that,” said Mai. “We have you.”

Broken was then strangely silent. He continued to stare out the window.

Mai heard a splattering, that sounded like blood, quite near the carriage, and she winced. The noises and the smells continued to plague her, until she was curled up in a corner of the carriage. And a quick glance told her Ishad was not much better.

Broken, of course, was completely unaffected.

And the battle raged on. From the sounds, and the smells, it seemed as if the very apex of the conflict was right around them, was right around the carriage.

Then there was a sound, like a thunk, of something hitting the carriage, itself.

“What was that?” Mai asked.

“Stray arrow,” said Broken.

And that was not the last stray arrow to strike them. Not by far. The carriage was like a giant pincushion, attracting stab, after stab, after stab.

“How can they just kill each other?” said Mai. “How can they just keep killing each other?”

Before, at Gansu, and at the Holy Citadel, and at Bola, there had been clear cut enemies. Broken, Mai, and, in the last two cases, Ishad, had been doing nothing more than trying to escape, and those after them had been trying to prevent that.

But here, Mai didn’t know who were the good, and who were the bad. The Vedil served a false emperor, who wanted her dead, and the Makini served Varsis, who wanted her much the same way.

It was all so confusing.

For a brief moment, Mai hoped that they all killed each other, but that hope quickly fled. She had known Vedil. She had known the Tevin family, when they had been at her farm.

No Tevin deserved to be killed.

And with that, Mai realized she could not generalize. To be sure, Varsis was evil, and so was his henchman, Eton, but she was sure there were plenty of Makini who were as innocent as she was.

And so, Mai came to the sobering conclusion that all around her, innocents were dying, fighting only because they had the belief that their House would not do anything against honor.

Each thought that the other side was filled with demons, Casari-cursed. And so they killed, because in their hearts, they felt it was the right thing.

Mai found herself disgusted at the way human society functioned. The Makini and those sworn to Emperor Ehajdon had tried diplomacy first, Mai was sure. But when that avenue had become difficult, they acted like children, and resorted to fists and violence.

And Mai was quite sure of one thing. Even if one was stronger, it did not mean that one was right. Broken was living proof of that.

And as her thoughts did, so to did the battle begin to wind down. The frantic shouts became less and less numerous, and the screams sounded as if they came from farther and farther away.

The storm of death was ending.

“Thank you, God, for delivering us from that night,” said Mai, bowing her head in prayer.

But, while most of the battle was over, all not yet was. Mai turned back to the window, just in time to see a haunting sight.

There was a lone Vedil soldier out there, standing with a lone Makini soldier. The Vedil had lost his weapon, and the Makini had not, but it was clear who was in the better shape.

Blood poured from the Makini, stained him. He barely seemed able to keep himself on his feet, and he seemed no older than Mai. The Makini’s sword dropped from his hand. It very much seemed as if the Vedil had not inflicted the damage on the Makini, but instead, they had met at a chance occurrence.

“They’re all dead!” shouted the Vedil, who was no older than the Makini. The Vedil’s shirt and brown hair were bloodstained as well, but unlike the Makini, the blood was not from him. “They’re all dead!” shouted the Vedil again, louder this time, to a forest empty but for himself, the Makini, and the three watchers from the carriage, which he seemed not to notice.

“People like you killed my family!” shouted the Vedil, as the Makini just stood there, awkwardly. “I enlisted because of that, and now people like you killed all my squadmates. People like you!”

It looked like it was a pain for the Makini to continue to stand. His black hair was not only caked with blood; it was also caked with sweat. He said nothing.

The Vedil picked up the Makini’s dropped sword, and held it in his hands. “But, for all your crimes, at least I can kill you now,” said the Vedil. “At least I can kill you now, to avenge my family.”

“What…what are you talking about?” said the Makini. “I…I didn’t kill your family.”

The Vedil didn’t answer with words. Instead, he slammed the pommel of his sword into the Makini’s chest, in a way that very much reminded Mai of what Savel had done with Ishad.

The Makini dropped to the ground, just as Ishad had, but unlike Savel, the Vedil would not let him stay there.

The Vedil reached down, grabbed the Makini, and dragged him to the carriage with Broken Mai, and Ishad, and slammed him against the side. The Vedil was still quite oblivious to the fact that three were watching him. The new angle meant that Mai couldn’t see the Makini at all, but she could see the loathing in the Vedil’s face as he looked down on him.

“Why…do you need to kill me?” wheezed the Makini. “I have a family too. A mother, and a father.”

In response, the Vedil grabbed him up, and threw him to the ground, once again putting the Makini’s broken body in Mai’s sight.

Mai saw, acutely, blood drip from the Makini’s mouth.

“You don’t have family!” shouted the Vedil. “You’re a savage! You’re all savages!”

The Vedil raised the sword high over his head, and cut down.

There was a wet thunk, and then it became very clear that the Makini was dead.

At that moment, Broken got out of the carriage, and Ishad and Mai followed suit.

Suddenly noticing them, the Vedil asked, “Who…who are you?” He dropped the Makini sword.

“No one who matters to you,” said Broken, calmly beginning to stand Swift and Stride up.

“Traitors!” shouted the Vedil. “You should have helped!”

And then he ran off.

Ishad looked at him as he went, but Broken said, “Let him go.”

“Then, why didn’t you wait until he was gone?” asked Mai.

“Because I knew he was no longer a threat, and to wait longer would be to waste time,” said Broken.

Mai’s eyes drifted to the dead Makini slumped on the ground. “Shouldn’t we do something?” she said. “I mean, we can’t just leave his body here to rot.”

“Why do you care so much about that particular body,” said Broken, not looking up from his work with the horses. “Look around.”

Mai did, and saw what Ishad had a moment earlier.

There were bodies strewn everywhere. The Makini was not the only one by far, and he was by far not the worst mangled.

There were dead Vedil here, on the ground, and dead Makini, in seemingly equal numbers.

“The Vedil said the Makini won,” said Ishad carefully. “But it seems there are about equal casualties on each side.”

“I agree,” said Broken. “This was an even battle. But in the end, the Vedil retreated, and so the Makini were victorious by default.”

“This is terrible,” said Mai. “There were all people. These were all sons and daughters.”

Broken’s eyes bored into her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Even Varsis is someone’s child,” he said.

Varsis, who haunted Mai’s dreams almost as much as Eton, was somebody’s child. Now, that was a thought, indeed.