When she came to – seconds or minutes later, probably – Zoe jolted from the spot where she lay, limbs suddenly obeying her commands again. She brushed a bit of foam from the edge of her mouth as she slowly rose up to her feet. Before her, there was the orchard. Marga had gone in that direction – but she was nowhere to be seen. The woman – the Mirshal Reaper – was gone.

Silently cursing herself for not approaching the encounter more intelligently, for not realizing that of course that woman was a Reaper, of course she would summon a Reaper weapon, Zoe took a quick gulp from her canteen, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and began to turn around. She had to get back to the village proper. She had to talk to Cigdem. Whatever chaos was afoot, she needed to help get a handle on it…

She was about halfway to turning around when that young girl Hilda’s gauntleted fist struck her in the side of the head and sent her barreling to the ground again.

By the time Zoe regained her ability to think straight, she was not in a position to fight back. Her sidearm and knife lay discarded, much too far away for Zoe to reach. She could barely push herself up from the ground, much less stand up on her own feet. Hilda and Kamila circled her, both looming over Zoe in spite of everything. On their hands were rings upon rings of turning, sliding iron, powered gauntlets that pulled away from Hilda’s hand as she grinned and flexed her fingers, then slipped over again to form a hard shell when she closed her fist. “So, thought you’d slip past us, huh, Zoe?”

“Hilda…” Zoe groaned, looking up at the younger sister. “Look, I’m telling you, there’s only one way this goes well for any of your friends.”

The other sister shouted: “Worry about yourself!” and struck out with her foot. The kick struck Zoe in the middle of her spine, and for a moment she felt her back must have snapped. There was some supernatural strength in it when Kamila’s hit landed. Zoe shouted in pain and struggled to get her hands flat against the ground. She wound up curling up into herself, listening to the footsteps circling around her.

“You’re our prisoner now,” Hilda said proudly, and Zoe was struck by just how young and naïve she sounded. This is a Mirshal Reaper? Or… a future one?

“Prisoner?” Kamila’s response was incredulous. “You must be kidding. We can’t afford to keep her alive, she’s too dangerous!”

“If we kill her, we won’t have any bargaining chips.” Hilda responded, bending down to grab Zoe by the shoulder and drag her up to a standing position. “We should take her somewhere safe.” Now on her feet, Zoe got a good look at Hilda. Her face was wrinkled up in pain and blood soaked a strip of cloth wrapped around her midriff, but she stood still. “We need a hostage in case it comes to a negotiation with the soldiers.”

“And you think they care about one of their own?” Kamila scoffed. “They’ll kill this one to get at us. She’s no longer useful to them, after all.”

Zoe coughed and struggled to speak “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed, her voice thin and rasping. “Those are my friends.”

“Yeah?” Kamila wrapped a hand around Zoe’s neck from behind and leaned in close. Zoe couldn’t see Kamila, but she could see the sudden shock, horror even, on Hilda’s face. “Well, your friends are hardened killers, in case you didn’t notice.”

“We’re soldiers,” Zoe spat. “We don’t leave comrades behind.”

“You can take that bullshit oath to your grave.”

“Kamila! Come on!” Zoe lifted her arms, but she didn’t even bother trying to pry Hilda’s fingers off of her. There was no way she could. And even if she managed it – wouldn’t Kamila just kill her on the spot?

“Why shouldn’t I do it, Hilda? Because it’ll make you sad?” Kamila scoffed again. Zoe shut her eyes tight and tried not to scream. It would do no good, and maybe if she stayed still and did what she was told, she’d get out of this –

“Because it’s wr-“ Hilda started to reply to Kamila’s goading, but suddenly gasped in pain and dropped Zoe, clutching at her stomach. Zoe’s eyes snapped open. Kamila was stepping over her, barely noticing her, going for her sister. In a moment, Kamila’s back was to Zoe. She began to crawl. In Zoe’s mind, gears turned and she attempted to work out her next move. She reached out for her weapons. Zoe turned her head a few degrees to the left. Hilda, breathing raggedly, struggled to stand.

Zoe surged up to her feet, face turned toward the center of Etyslund, and began to run.

“Hey! Get back here!” Kamila’s voice behind her was shrill. Zoe turned. Kamila stood, not letting go of Hilda. Zoe came to a stop, already winded from the short run, feeling like she might lose consciousness at any moment, still standing in her sweat-soaked boots. She and Kamila stood, staring at one another, for a long time.

Then Kamila turned and, supporting her younger sister, limped away. Not toward the orchard, Zoe noted, but somewhere else. She considered shooting Kamila and Hilda – nearly lifted the sidearm to aim in their direction.

Zoe sighed. She was tired – too tired. She turned and began to half-run, half-walk until she reached the closest building.

It was a large place, and unlike most buildings in the village, it was not mixed clay and stone, but stone entirely. Zoe braced herself against the sturdy walls as she walked the perimeter looking for an entrance. Soon enough, she found it. In the distance she could hear voices – whether soldiers or villagers, it was impossible to tell. There was no more shooting, no more shouting – just talking. Cigdem must have finally managed to get hold of the situation. Or maybe any army of Reapers had shown up and slaughtered all of Zoe’s friends. She tried not to think about that possibility. They were so close, whether alive or dead – and yet she couldn’t join them. She was too tired.

Just… tired.

When she finally found the door and stumbled inside, Zoe collapsed onto the floor, barely able to hold herself up on her knees. The door closed behind her with a loud thud and she allowed herself a moment of rest, until a voice interrupted her reverie. The voice was tremulous and thin, broadcasting fear. The voice said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Zoe looked up. A man in a thick overcoat – the air in here was colder than the outside – with a scraggly beard, and an uncombed mop of hair held mostly under his cap, stood over her. His eyes were wide and wild, shining green under the light of lanterns above. In one hand, he held a thick book – and as Zoe looked past him, she saw that the walls were lined with shelves of them. In the other hand was nestled a comm device of some sort, all clear and glistening crystal with lines of blue upon it. Zoe suppressed the instinct to slap the device out of the man’s hand – she couldn’t lift her arm that high anyway, and besides, it was unlikely he would use it to call for help.

“I heard shooting,” the man continued. “And screaming. Is everyone okay?”

Zoe groaned and pushed herself up, rising to her feet. Her knees and forelegs shook as she stood, and looked at the man before her. “You should stay inside. Just stay out of the way. Everything will be better for you that way.”

“Wait.” Zoe turned her head a bit, as if doing so would protect her from discovery. “I don’t recognize you. You’re one of the invaders.”

Zoe started to reach for her sidearm, but the man’s voice stopped her. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not armed. But you had better explain yourself. Why did you come here?”

Zoe shook her head. “I am under no obligation to answer your questions.”

“According to whom, soldier? Your own authority?”

“What game are you playing?” snapped Zoe, agitated by this line of questioning. “Words don’t move armies, and you ought to know that.”

“Words do move armies, in fact,” the man replied. “Words are everything. For instance.” He slipped the comm device into a pocket of his coat and held the book close. “My name is Stepan. And yours?”

Zoe answered almost without thinking.

“With that name, I assume you’re from the very heart of Gaurlante,” Stepan said. “You must be proud, to have come up so near Aivor’s embrace.”

“What would you know of it? Are you loyal? No…” Zoe folded her arms, feeling her strength start to return. The lingering effects of the hypo were still knitting her wounds, even the ones she’d received from Kamila and Hilda. “Even the Solists in this base land are heretical.”

“I believe you have your cardinal directions mixed up, soldier,” Stepan countered. “Risir is of the south, the Crescent Land.” He fiddled with the corners of his book’s cloth binding. Zoe peered, but couldn’t see the spine or any other printing of its title. She did get a better look at Stepan’s face, though. His teeth were gritted even as he spoke.

“Speak plainly. What’s the point of all this?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Must you always answer a question with a question?”

Stepan shrugged, showing a thin, grim smile.

Zoe sighed. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me what this place is?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stepan replied. “It’s a library.”

“Great. Just you here? As of now I’m ordering you to provide me, and any of my comrades who need it, with quarter in this building.”

“Well, it’s not just me most of the time!” Stepan responded, defensively, holding his book closer in both hands. “Technically I run this place together with my wife Marga, though I do most of the actual li-“

“Your wife Marga?”

Stepan’s eyes narrowed, and Zoe stared back at him, calculating. After all this day’s bad luck, perhaps Zoe really was owed some good. Her bones ached and the sites of her wounds still screamed despite the medicine, but twice now a Mirshalite had fallen straight into her lap. It was as though they did not fear to be found out at all.

Of course, faced now with a soldier of Invictus, Stepan clearly knew fear. He must have figured it out by now – what Zoe was here for. Zoe grinned.

“You’re a Mirshalite, aren’t you?”

“No,” Stepan said, “I’m not.”

“But your wife is.”

Stepan didn’t reply, but his face grew grim and angry. He looked like he might strike out at any moment. Zoe took a few steps back, her hand held over her sidearm’s holster, fingers twitching and flexing.

Zoe grinned. “You’re going to help me catch Marga, if you value your life.”

Stepan shook his head, and with his voice suddenly quivering, shouted, “I’ve never hurt anybody! How can you people do this?”

“Well,” Zoe replied, rolling her eyes, “You are at best harboring someone who has made it their goal to bring about the apocalypse. I call that hurtful.” One step back.

Stepan’s mouth fell open. “To… what? Is that what you believe…?”

“Are you going to help me find Marga?” One step forward.

“I don’t even know where she is! I haven’t seen her all afternoon, and if there’s fighting and your people haven’t found her, she must be long gone!”

“I can turn you in, Stepan.” Zoe allowed herself a little chuckle – was that intimidating enough? Apparently so, at least it was enough. One step back.

Stepan cringed. “I’m telling you, I don’t know where Marga is. Even if I did… I don’t want to fight.”

“I find that hard to believe,” replied Zoe, leaning forward. One step forward. “Why should I trust you?”

His hands shaking, Stepan growled, “I just want to take my family and get out of this place. I know you Invictus are just going to stay here once this is all over. I just want to leave. That’s it.”

One step back. “And give up on your quest to kill God?”

Stepan laughed madly. “To kill God? Are you insane? What lies did they put in your head, back home? What kind of stupid kid are you?”

“I’m no kid. I was a scholar, before I came to join the army.” One step forward.

“Some scholar!” Stepan’s voice was derisive, dismissive, disgusted. Zoe shook her head, sighing, glanced down at the ground and at Stepan’s feet.

“We just want Mirshal. We don’t care about the la-“

Zoe’s sidearm clattered to the floor next to her head as her body hit the ground. She managed to brace herself, barely, with her left arm so that she didn’t crack her skull against the floor, but her head swam with the afterimpact pain. Nearby, Stepan fell to his knees, weeping, clutching the book in his hands. Zoe’s eyes focused in a moment of strange lucidity on that book. Its cover was flecked with blood.

Hah. That’s my blood.