Because the ‘death of the divine’ I saw is in a concrete sense a dispersion of words into the world; therefore one should strive to listen to the world, to read the world, to understand it. Because the world is not desolate, without its gentle and kind spark. Though the spark may be a remnant; therefore the spark should be kindled and cultivated – and it is up to the people to cultivate it! – lest it truly fade from this world without our sustaining labor and leave us all in oblivion. Because there is no longer any true guiding voice for us since the ravages of the Desert; therefore it is our duty to guide ourselves, to teach ourselves, and to make the world brighter by our own hands – together.

-From “A Warning on Devotion”

244 YT, Winter: On the walls of Kivv

The mountains in the north shone orange and purple in the morning light. Kamila Zelenko stood, shielding her eyes with her right hand, watching the light on those peaks and on the lake’s surface. The mountains stretched east and west, covering up a part of the sun as it continued its steady morning rise. Standing atop the walls of Kivv, Kamila let her free hand rest on the hilt of Wallshaker, and she leaned against the ramparts.

She didn’t see or hear the hunters approaching – she felt their presence, the absence of birdsong that went in their wake, the shifting of the air around her. It was not instinct but practice – the memories in the sword – that let her react.

She shifted and drew the blade. From her right came a masked hunter, whirling a long-pointed spear. The hood over his head fell back and she caught a glimpse of a mop of dark hair behind the metal mask. The spearpoint came to rest, pointed at Kamila, and the hunter stepped forward, feet apart and planted. Front foot stepped forward. Back foot slid to narrow the gap. The spearpoint hovered, aimed at Kamila’s head.

From her left came another hunter, wearing an identical metal mask, moving quickly and chaotically between the ramparts. Kamila took note of his movement pattern – he dashed from one high point of the walls to the next, the knives in his hands spinning as he went. Then he kicked out with a foot, pushed into the air, and leapt toward Kamila.

Wallshaker’s memory flared with urgency: one of the sword’s previous owners had died like this, their assailant leaping high over them and sliding a knife over their throat, stealing the hot blood from within. Kamila’s instinct told her not to block, but to duck, and so she bent her knees, casting a quick glance to the right as the spear-wielder went for a lunge. Kamila shifted the sword to her right hand, pushing back against the spear and deflecting it out of its path. The tip ran past her and into the wall. Metal rang against stone while the knife-wielding hunter sailed over Kamila. The spearman struggled to pull his spear loose. As the knife-user fell Kamila finally moved her blade to her left hand, going into a low lunge and reaching out with her right hand to grab the spear’s shaft. The spear-hunter gasped in surprise behind his mask while Kamila flipped her grip on the sword. A knife darted toward her and she twisted away, pulling the spear so that its wielder stumbled away. The shaft of the spear pushed against the knife-wielder, putting him off balance as he readied his next attack. One of the knives fell from its wielder’s hand and tumbled into the air beyond the wall.

Kamila yanked on the spear and pulled its wielder forward – he stumbled against his partner and the two nearly wound up sprawled on the floor. But the spearman then twisted his weapon and forced it out of Kamila’s hand, wrenching her arm in the process. She stumbled back several steps, trying to recall a proper form and fall into a stance. Still she was running on instinct, panicked memory, but with a little distance between herself and her attackers she forced her mind to calm. Kamila lowered her right arm (still burning from the wrenching pain) and unslung her crossbow with her left hand. She leapt back another several steps’ distance as the spearman lunged at her and the knife-wielder darted alongside the wall’s edge.

The spear thrust toward her – she turned aside from it and raised her crossbow to fire. The bolt flew true, but the spearman raised his spare arm while regaining his balance. The bolt tore through sleeve and reflected off armlet, disappearing beyond the edge of the wall. The knife-wielder then came in for a swipe, and Kamila leapt up onto the ramparts, practiced steps bringing her up and down and up and down on the edge of a precipitous fall. In catlike form she gave herself distance again, raising her crossbow to fire once more.

This time her bolt deflected from the metal mask of the knife-wielder. Staggered for a moment, Lucian clutched at his face, then reached out to snap the next bolt out of the air. He twisted around and threw the bolt. Kamila dodged it, though it had little force. She realized her error a moment afterward – the bolt, thrown, was not a weapon but a distraction. A knife came next, ripping into her arm. Kamila’s bear tattoo burned more painfully than the wound itself as the ink within worked to accelerate her healing. The adrenaline in her veins gave her speed.

Kamila thrust her blade, and with a hooking motion she pulled the metal mask from the spearman’s face. Erik Murkrea stumbled back to join Lucian, and Kamila fell into a steady stance against the two of them. She had them where she wanted them – together, not surrounding her, across from her on this painfully linear arena of a wall. If they charged, she could push them to either side and it would be over. Anyone who fell off this wall would limp away at best, certainly unfit to continue fighting.

Lucian drew fresh knives and readied them, and dashed forward. Kamila turned her blade, readying for a defense. As Kamila, and Wallshaker, predicted, Lucian turned his arms and threw the knives. Kamila deflected them both with the sword, and they fell away from the wall.

Then Lucian kept coming. Kamila started to turn, to prepare to push him from the wall, but he had other plans. The shock from deflecting the knives had loosened her grip on the hilt of Wallshaker. Lucian, with thick-gloved hands, grasped the sword by the flat of its blade and twisted it away.

When Wallshaker left her hands, Kamila felt suddenly vulnerable, alone. She raised her fists defensively, clenched, as the spear thrust for her. Kamila twisted backward, felt her back pop painfully, but continued to twist and grabbed the spear near its shaft. She twisted, and the spear came free from Erik’s hands, and she turned it over in her hands. She fell into a low stance again, thrust forward, stepped and dashed, and then the spear was ripped from her hands. Wallshaker’s blade turned against her.

Desperately, she stepped forward and ducked under the blade and went for a brutal strike against Lucian’s gut. She punched repeatedly, but he dodged each strike easily, gracefully like a dancer. Even as her strikes increased in speed, she couldn’t land a single one. And then Erik came around and behind her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and dragged her off of her feet.

Her hands were pulled roughly behind her back even as she struggled back up to stand. She twisted, but couldn’t move.

“Halt!”

The grips of the hunters on Kamila’s arms lightened and she twisted free, turning and stepping away from them. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she stared past Lucian and Erik. Antonin Voloshko, arms concealed in the sleeve of his green robe, walked toward Kamila from a little further down the wall. Under his robe’s hem, his steps were so small it looked as though he was gliding toward her.

“You must work on remaining vigilant, Kamila. You grow distracted at your own peril.”

Kamila forced her breaths to slow, to grow deeper as she took a steady balance. “I am vigilant, Voloshko – I didn’t allow these two to ambush me.”

“You did,” Voloshko said. “You may have known they were coming, but you knew only quickly enough to prevent their attack, not to plan against them. And you fought well, yes, you fought skillfully – but how much of that skill was your own and how much was rote memory?”

“Does it matter?” Kamila brushed stray hairs out of her face. Voloshko came toa halt and held out his hand. Lucian turned, Wallshaker flipping upward in his hand, and Kamila moved to reach for the sword. She was too slow – Lucian tossed the blade to Voloshko. A sleeve came loose suddenly, and Antonin Voloshko’s hand darted from within his robe. Voloshko caught Wallshaker by the hilt, then flipped it over through the air. It sailed and turned, and he caught the flat of the blade, near its tip, between his hands.

“It matters, because now you no longer have the blade. And all the memories it contains are lost to you.” Voloshko smiled. “You are to be a Hunter, Kamila Zelenko. You are to make those who wield fear, feel fear. You are to seek out those who would seek you out. The Hunter is always being hunted, Kamila. And no tool, no tool alone, will ever be enough to save you from the darkness you fight against. You can’t lose your way – but you will lose your way, if you allow yourself to.”

He stretched out his arm, the blade bending slightly. He put his left hand behind his back, holding the hilt of the weapon out toward Kamila. “Now show me what you can do, Kamila Zelenko.”

She walked slowly toward him, hand stretched out to the hilt of Wallshaker.

“Do not worry about hurting me, Kamila – even should you strike true, I will recover. Simply show me your capabilities. I must see what you can do, because if you are to learn you must first learn your limits. Then you can surpass your limits – break them and become stronger.”

“I am strong,” Kamila said, tensing.

“Not strong enough,” Voloshko replied. “Now show me –“

And Kamila moved. Her hand darted forward like the viper’s strike, and she closed her fingers around the hilt of Wallshaker. Memories flooded her mind in that instant, but Kamila did not stop her motion or pull back to recover the sword. Voloshko loosened his grip on the weapon just before Kamila’s fingers closed around the hilt. But Kamila did not pull back for a defensive maneuver, or to ready a slash. She continued her forward motion, smoothly, her blade striking toward Voloshko’s heart.

He twisted in response, his wry smile showing he’d anticipated her move exactly. Kamila adjusted the trajectory of her thrust, and the outer edge of the sword raked against Voloshko’s arm, drawing a line of bright blood. He stumbled back, his feet leaving the ground for a moment, and floated a short distance. Voloshko touched the ground again, and he fell into a low stance. Kamila, staggering forward and still trying to regain her balance after her first attack, pushed against the ramparts with her spare hand. She stumbled toward Voloshko, raising the blade for a downward swipe.

Kamila felt a strange heat in the air, a pressure, the same odd sensation she knew from witnessing Hilda’s magic at work, from witnessing her mother’s magic. Voloshko’s green-glowing sword appeared in his hand and moved into place in an instant, deflecting Kamila’s slash. She reversed course, gaining her footing properly and falling into a stance. She rained blows upon Voloshko, advancing, advancing, striking, striking. One foot thrust forward in a kick and fell into a step and she slid her back foot to narrow the gap. She thrust in that motion, and when Voloshko deflected the thrust, she swept her blade around and over his head and towards his opposite arm. Blood ran down that arm already, but he deftly moved out of the way of the next strike.

Kamila fell into the next form, and attempted strike after strike, and each one was parried by Voloshko. He only attempted a single riposte in response to Kamila’s flurry, a lazy swipe which forced Kamila to leap back out of range. Voloshko’s blade then met Wallshaker and forced the weapon to the ground. The sword rang against the stone, and a shockwave ran through Kamila’s arm, but she kept her grip. “How are you so fast?” she hissed.

“You’re not the only one who wields memories in the palm of your hand,” Voloshko replied, barely winded, and stepped back, freeing up Kamila’s blade.

Immediately she thrust upward and stepped forward again, shouting, “What does that mean?”

Voloshko sidestepped, and Kamila had to grind her boots against the ground to avoid stumbling past Voloshko. “What kind of blade do you think Wallshaker is?” the old Reaper asked.

“A magic one?” Kamila called back in response, twisting her torso and directing the energy into a swipe. This time Antonin did not attempt to block with his blade. He stood, staring into Kamila’s eyes, and her sword swept toward him. And then it was simply… redirected. It was as though the air itself, the shape of space between Kamila and the Reaper, bent and forced Kamila’s blade upward. She did not feel an upward force – the signals from her arms told her that she was swinging the blade parallel to the ground. But she saw it turn upward, and Voloshko smirked. The dissonance of her senses gave Kamila a moment of pause, and Voloshko stepped toward her, and kicked her in the chest. She staggered back, nearly dropped Wallshaker, braced herself against the ramparts. “Aren’t you going to tell me?” Kamila demanded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“It’s a Reaper weapon,” Voloshko said, advancing to Kamila. She watched his every step. Though his robe obscured the rhythm of his motions, there was a pattern emerging. He drifted slightly as he moved. Kamila watched his movements. And then she staggered a bit, feeling the surface of the wall grow unsteady beneath her. It was bending, for just a moment. And then Voloshko was beside her, and the strange effect was gone, and it was like he had stepped the space of ten paces in one. “Torn from the Aether,” Voloshko whispered beside Kamila. “The only reason you’re able to wield it is because it was separated there from, but it is still a Reaper weapon.”

“But I’m no Reaper,” Kamila growled, staring into Voloshko’s eyes as he stared back. There was no malice in his gaze. Kamila knew there was nothing but malice in hers. “I’m no Reaper,” she said again.

“No,” Antonin replied, “You are not.”

And Kamila pushed herself up, moving into a graceful form, bringing her blade toward herself with Voloshko between it and her. Like a single scissor blade it made for his back. And then he redirected it, just as he had before, and this time Kamila’s wrist twisted painfully and the sword flew from her grasp.

And it landed in Antonin’s hand again.

Voloshko stood, holding Wallshaker, as Kamila groaned and flexed her fingers. She fell into a boxer’s stance, but the memories from Wallshaker were fuzzy, the muscle-memory faded. Antonin smiled his infuriating smile. “Why do you think I allow you to wield such a weapon as Wallshaker?”

“Because I’m strong!” Kamila shouted, and on the final word she stepped forward and punched out with a fist. Antonin laughed and tossed Wallshaker to the ground.

“Are you?” he asked tauntingly. Kamila dove for the blade, tried to pick it up. Antonin kicked her in the side and she fell against the stone. Antonin kicked Wallshaker away – it clattered down the rocks until it was far out of reach of either of them. “You can’t even beat an old man in a fistfight,” he said, stepping back and raising his hands.

“You’re using that magic!” Kamila said in reply, surging up to her feet. She straightened a leg and moved it along the ground, putting all the force of her body into the twisting motion. “It’s not the same!” And she raised that foot, kicking out toward Antonin. He caught her leg and pushed away, but Kamila was ready. She grasped the ramparts and pushed herself up, using the momentum of Antonin’s counterattack to turn herself in the air. And her boots went onto the ramparts, and she pushed off against them, grabbing at Antonin’s arms.

“And what should that matter?” Antonin replied, even as Kamila grasped his shoulders and pushed him against the opposite ramparts. “Magic didn’t stop you from beating your sister half to death.”

Kamila blinked and nearly froze then. But she wasn’t stupid – she knew exactly what Antonin was doing. She kept moving, although she couldn’t stop herself from gritting her teeth and growling back at him as she pulled him away from the ramparts and made to shove him further down the length of the wall, opposite the direction where her sword lay. “Don’t,” she said. And Antonin stepped back, back, away from Kamila. She chanced a brief glance over her shoulder at Wallshaker but –

It wasn’t there –

She looked back toward Antonin, and he was walking backwards toward where the sword lay.

But just a moment before she’d been heading that way –

His damn Reaper battle magic again. It wasn’t even the thinnest excuse for the way he behaved. “Don’t!” she shouted, and charged at Antonin, and he stepped backing away. He ducked under Kamila’s next desperate punch. “Don’t say a damn thing,” she shouted, raising a knee to strike at Voloshko’s chest, “about Hilda!” Voloshko deflected the kick and stepped back again, closer to the sword.

Kamila made as though to move around Voloshko to the right, and he stepped in front of her, but she reversed course and dashed to the left, past him. He was too slow to catch her and the two switched places. “I know you’re holding her back!” she said. “I know you think she’s weak!” Voloshko kept his hands raised, fingers pointed toward Kamila.

“She’s not weak!” Kamila stepped back. Toward Wallshaker. “She’s my sister!” She moved to grab the sword. “We’re from the same blood!”

Antonin crossed the space between them in no time, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Blood means nothing –“ he began, pulling her away from the spot where Wallshaker lay.

“You’re wrong!” Kamila shouted, struggling in Antonin’s grasp.

“She is stronger than you,” Antonin said, and pushed Kamila against the ramparts. She quickly recovered, regained her balance, moved forward and struck with a fist. This time Antonin did not try to block or redirect. He staggered when Kamila’s fist struck him. Kamila tasted blood in the air.

“You,” Antonin said between coughs, “are a brute with a blade.” He laughed as Kamila kicked and sturck him, forced him against the ramparts. “She knows the cost of truth. You do not.” Kamila stepped in toward Antonin and struck him with heavy blows. She felt nothing but the ringing pain of her own fists against Antonin Voloshko’s old, frail body. Yet still he stood. “You are unfocused,” he said between breaths. “You are driven purely by your anger, and in the end you are doomed to fail.”

Kamila’s breaths were heavy, shallow, quick. Her lungs burned. She was winning, wasn’t she?

So why was Antonin still standing?

“Unless you start listening to me,” he said.

It’s about time you started listening to me

Kamila blinked.

Voloshko coughed heavily, letting his pain show plainly for the first time since he’d goaded Kamila into this fight. “What was that?” he said.

Kamila shook her head. Had she spoken out loud?

“Do you concede?” Voloshko asked calmly, pushing back against the ramparts and standing up at his full height. “Do you accept that there are some fights you cannot win, some fights you are not ready to win?”

Kamila tried to shake her head. Her head was so heavy. It was… too difficult… too tired…

Her knees gave out.

At the edge of consciousness Kamila heard Antonin’s voice, under the buzzing pain. It was gentle now, quiet, and Kamila could feel the sympathy, undisguised, when Antonin spoke to her. He certainly had a funny way of showing it, but…

“You have much left to learn, Hunter,” he said. “But hold on to that anger of yours. Just have a mind to pair it with focus.”

He pressed the hilt of Wallshaker back into her hand, and departed.

When Kamila fully regained her awareness, Lucian was leaning against the ramparts and watching the mountains, standing next to her. His metal mask rested in one hand. “I’m sorry about that,” Lucian said. “Zil-Antonin is a harsh teacher, isn’t he?”

Kamila looked up at Lucian. His face was too soft for a hunter, wasn’t it? He looked like barely more than a child.

I’m barely more than a child

Kamila held her tongue.

“Yeah, I know,” Lucian said to her silence. “Don’t worry, I don’t think he’ll pull another stunt like that. I think he’ll trust that you’ve learned your lesson. The first lesson is always the harshest, you know. You have to realize some things about yourself before you’re ready to move on and become stronger.”

When she finally got back to the apartment, opened the door and stepped inside, the old watchtower’s resident cat meowed loudly and came trotting down the stairs. Absent-mindedly, Kamila bent down and held out her arms, and the cat climbed up. She cradled the soft creature and went up the stairs. Each step was a heavy labor. Her arms and legs burned when she moved. Halfway up to the top floor of the tower, she stumbled and dropped Chaika to the ground. The cat hissed in anger, but quickly recovered and walked up the rest of the stairs to the bed. It leapt up and curled into a tight ball atop the sheets.

Kamila fell flat on her face and did not wake until a knock came at the door.

And then she stood, slowly, and moved for the stairs. She picked up her pace and ran down the stairs, opened the door, leaned against the doorframe. She was breathing heavily already, still tired and injured after her battle with Voloshko. Her bear tattoo burned painfully, her muscles were tight and knotted and torn, and…

Hilda was standing there.

And Lucian?

She glanced over at him. “Hold on, weren’t you just…” How long had it been? Kamila’s sense of time was breaking down…

In response, Lucian raised an eyebrow at her, and his eyes then darted quickly towards Kamila’s younger sister. Hilda held out a package – wrapped in paper, the size of a few large books bundled together. “I’m supposed to give you this,” she said. “Devani sent it.”

Kamila felt that she needed to cough, but the pressure in her throat didn’t abate and she only made a small noise of mild disapproval. “Devani sent that?” she asked, hoping her tone sounded at least relatively neutral. “Is this something from Voloshko?”

“I don’t know.” Hilda shrugged. “Have you seen him recently?”

“Well, yeah,” replied Kamila, taken aback for a moment. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the same thing she’d heard from Hilda a dozen times – Voloshko was indeed avoiding her. “Well, I mean, isn’t he always at the monasteries?”

Hilda nodded. “At least, that’s where I always see him. But I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

How long is a long time? Kamila sighed. “Well, he’s supposed to be your teacher, isn’t he?” she tried not to let too much anger slip into her voice. “You should seek him out if you can, and let him know if he keeps avoiding you, I’ll kick his ass.”

Hilda must have sensed the intensity in Kamila’s voice, or perhaps Kamila just wasn’t very good at pretending that she was joking. “Uh,” she chuckled. “Sure. I’ll let him know.”

“So what’s in the package?” Kamila leaned back from the doorframe a bit. She hoped she seemed nonchalant, but she was tired and stressed and anything but nonchalant. She wished she could have seen her own reflection – she must have looked so disheveled and bruised…

“I don’t know,” Hilda said. She shook the package lightly, and the sound inside was like a rustling. “It feels like papers, though. I don’t think I’m supposed to read it.”

Beside Hilda, Lucian began to chuckle, and Kamila blinked, and turned, and looked askance at him. “Now I wonder what that could be for…” Lucian said.

“Yeah,” Kamila said. “Me too.” Hilda took a step forward and set the package down, and Kamila leaned again against the doorframe, turning her head away from her sister. When Hilda bent down to put down the package all Kamila could think of was how small she looked. And that reminded her again of that day in Etyslund.

Hilda stood up, backing away from the door, and Kamila, lowering her gaze, looked down at the package. “Thanks, Hilda,” she said. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

She glanced at Hilda.

“And, uh…”

The words wouldn’t come.

I’msorry

I’msososorry

I’mgoingtomakethisworldrightforyou

Hilda only nodded at Kamila’s silence and turned to walk away. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

Slowly, with package in hand, Kamila closed the door, watching Hilda and Lucian walk away across the field. Through the window of her tower she watched them, walking and talking to one another.

Kamila’s body wanted to return to its rest, but she now had this package from Devani – which really meant it was a package from Voloshko. It would be foolish to put this task off. So she sat at her desk and opened up the package, tearing the outer paper and setting it aside. Inside she found reams of paper, bound sheets of intercepted messages, radio transcripts, correspondence that had been slipped from its envelopes and hand-copied before it reached its destination. Letters that had been etched into carbon papers. All the handiwork of Adma spies in the south, perhaps friends of Antonin Voloshko.

The first transcript on the pile was intercepted by the Adma near Kurikuneku, The message was conveyed by radio, between a ‘Zhiren’ and a ‘Gaius’.

Zhiren: “Zoe Bari may interest you.”

Gaius: “Why?”

Zhiren: “She fought well in the north. She may be suitable for the saboteurs.”

Gaius: “You would have me bless such a one as her?”

Zhiren: “I think it wise, my lord –“

Gaius: “Zhiren, you are the wisest of my children. If you think her suitable, she is suitable.”

Zhiren: “I will arrange for her to meet you when she returns.”

Kamila stared at that message, eyes scanning again and again over each printed letter, for many minutes. Then she set it aside.

Zoe Bari is alive. And she’s in Kurikuneku.

She felt a twinge, an urge, to stand up and take her sword and walk to the edge of the city. Then she would steal a horse, or perhaps she would take a motorbike if she could find it, and she would ride to the mountains of Gaurlante. And beyond that mountains she would find Zoe Bari. Kamila imagined herself standing atop those mountains, overlooking Kurikuneku, sword in her hand, while Zoe stared down the barrel of a rifle at her. She closed the gap between them and sliced open Zoe’s throat.

But Kamila was too tired to stand for long, so she looked at the documents past that. Descriptions of troop movements, and the movements of important people and goods around the Gaurl Core.

She scanned over them, tried to absorb the information. There were so many maps, words, numbers, ledgers, it all blended together. Names: Zhiren, Gaius, Aivor, Aivor, Zoe, Aivor, Zhiren, Zhiren…

The Adma…

Zoe Bari is alive.

Zoe Bari is in Kurikuneku.

Kamila growled in frustration and pushed the papers to the back of the desk. She stood up on shaking legs, driven only by adrenaline and fear and sorrow. The memory stung at the back of Kamila’s mind:

“Do you feel shame? Fear? Do you feel anything?”

Zoe Bari is alive.

“Yes, we are filthy. And we will never be normal again. We’re beasts. Monsters. And you can’t fucking handle us!”

Zoe Bari is alive.

Zoe Bari is –