Flicker on the other side

O’ twigs hanging on tight

Little lights to always remind

the falcons of how to take flight

So remember how

I whispered to you

of ancient splendor and

nothing left to lose

Oh, oh, there’s a silent fear on the track

To turn away from ignorance

Lose the mantle of willing amnesiac

and rejoin, rejoin the dusty dance

-”Little whispers”, a song of Graoungers

245 YT

The strange, cold, tingling flicker of an aura that was somehow wrong stung – more than it should have – at the margins of Hilda’s awareness. It made her want to grind her teeth, put tightness in her chest. She knew that tension well, the kind of tension that makes you snap out at whoever comes close not because of anger at them, but simply because something has to give, the coil has to be unwound somehow. A spring, closed, cannot remain tightly wound forever.

It was not the same feeling she had experienced those many seasons ago on a grassy plain. But, she was not the same person she’d been then, either. It did not need to be the same for her to know it.

Somehow, an Aether-Touched had come to the city of Kivv.

Wherever it was, that uneasy feeling of the tension of its presence suffused the ground Hilda walked. That spring-tightness was something far more innate to Hilda than the previous weeks’ adrenaline-fueled exchanges with Invictan soldiers in the woods outside Kivv. Those little battles – stealing away from the city in the night when no one, not even her siblings, not even Lucian, knew she was leaving – were always fearful, and yet at the same time gave Hilda a thrill that lasted for days afterward. She had not kept count of the wounds she’d inflicted, and she didn’t know if she’d killed any Invictans in that time, or how many. But they were scared. They were beginning to talk of the vengeful ghost that appeared in the form of a young Valer woman, scarf and hat obscuring her features, with a shining red glaive and with the very air at her command, untouchable by weapons, unseen even by godly Fragments – though in the main camp those soldiers with Devotees of their own were accorded greater honor, and rarely had to lower themselves to watching at the edges of the camp, so Hilda did not find herself face-to-face with them, by sheer coincidence.

But this tension was something different. There was something deep in her bones, trained since she was young, something that knew this wrongness. It could be nothing else at all but what she knew it, beyond any doubt, to be.

Hilda sat perched on the arm of the chair, watching from her north window. At the foot of the chair sat her accordion case, opened, the instrument with its red-lacquered casing vulnerable to the elements. It was cold in the room – and with the cold drifting through the single-pane window an odd nostalgia overcame Hilda. Outside, there was the world – inside, here was only herself, and memory. Though the icebox underneath the window was nearly empty now, the smell of vinegar still hung in her nostrils.

Beyond the north wall, there lay the Wyspie camp. Every time that Oscar went out there to speak to them – always with that gnarled old staff in his hand, the one he said had belonged to his grandmother – Hilda found herself drawn to this place, where she watched. She couldn’t see him, in the distance – but the falcon perched on her shoulder assured her that among the blur of distant figures on the hill over the lake was Oscar of Graoungers. And the Wyspie warriors, many of them, with their assortments of gear – pieces of hide joined together with electrified metal and wires coursing with powerful energy. Swords of unrefined iron, heavy yet sharp all the same, inset with pieces of obsidian and, bizarrely, wood. Acacia and ash and yew. Though their weapons seemed almost quaint in their archaic nature, they were legendary warriors for good reason – and they’d brought some technology with them of the like Hilda had never seen before. Even Aleks was amazed by much of it – invisibility, teleportation, all achieved by technology and not by planar magic. Some of their faces were still marked by bog peat after their journey. They gathered like soldiers in formation, even when they were listening to Oscar speak.

But they did listen to him speak, and they gathered – incredibly – gathered all around to hear him as though he, the disgraced and exiled diviner man, were their own king. When the Wypsies went out on their regular excursions to fight the Invictans on the other side of the wall – never managing to take any of the gates, but hoping to open up a supply line without committing to full, pitched battle where they might lose many of their number – Oscar never went with them. He couldn’t have been much use in a fight. Yet these legendary warriors seemed to respect the man all the same.

Hilda stood up from her chair and reached down past the foot of the seat, finally closing her accordion case and shutting the clasps. She walked to the opposite end of the room, catching as she moved a flash of blurred movement from the window over her bed. She glanced out it – it opened to the west, toward the Rust Gates – and whispered a query to the falcon sitting patiently, ever-patiently, on her shoulder.

It told her what she was looking at, when she could hardly see it herself. Needing this kind of help still embarrassed Hilda – but she’d come to realize that the truth of the world wasn’t like what she’d told herself when she listened to her mother’s stories of adventure. Back when… she’d still been alive.

It should have been obvious long before now. After everything Hilda had gone through since the Invictans first came to Etyslund, it should have been so obvious to her that the world was not like a story told to children. Yet a part of her had still believed, until Zoe finally died, that in the end she would look back on all of it like one of those stories of adventure. A painful one, yes, but one that in the end had made her stronger.

She knew she was stronger, in a way – the Invictans feared her, yes. Even now they were huddled around their campfires, exchanging coffee and telling lurid stories about the terrifying woman in the scarf and the hat, the one whose face – when they caught glimpses of it, for seconds at a time – seemed almost to weep silently while she went among the soldiers, cutting them down, never looking back to see if their wounds were fatal or merely debilitating.

But relying on help just to see what was in front of her made Hilda feel so weak, all the same.

It was a watchtower, the falcon told her. And inside the watchtower, her sister. Kamila – Hilda’s heart jumped into her throat. A vaguely unpleasant gravity at the tips of her fingers. She wished she could go and speak to her sister, but it had been weeks, and words were always more difficult than they should have been.

Frowning, Hilda wondered if Kamila could ever forgive her for what Kamila had done to her.

But Kamila was not the only one in the tower, and the blur – circling colors – had another part, with another name. Devani. Hilda’s eyes narrowed. She remembered the weapon-merchant, but more than that she remembered the battle in the gathering-hall, when Devani had saved Hilda’s and Kamila’s lives, when Erik Murkrea had been shot down by the Invictans.

Perhaps it was only Devani’s grief that made her act strangely, the fresh pain of the loss of her friend. Hilda could not blame her for that. Yet all the same there was something about Devani that she did not like.

Suspiciously, she glanced at the north window, and then toward the west.

But she could not stay inside forever.

Hilda walked up to the edge of her bed, looking at the bunched up blankets, the human-shaped lump underneath, and smiling – though she rolled her eyes at the same time. “Sleep all day if you like, but I’m going out,” she said. “If you’re going to be like this every time you stay here…”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Lucian said suddenly from under the blankets.

“I never do,” she muttered back.

“I’m serious.” Lucian didn’t peel back the covers that currently fell over his face, just lay there, but the human-shape lump turned toward Hilda. “Please don’t sneak out of the city again.”

“I haven’t been -” Hilda started, and almost as soon as she’d spoken she knew what a mistake it was. “I mean…”

Lucian sighed, a slow and disappointed sigh. After a long time, he said, voice oddly steadier than it had been before: “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I’m not -” Hilda couldn’t help it. She stopped herself.

“I’ve always trusted you, you know.” Still he didn’t move from where he lay. “Admired you. Even since we were little. I guess I just wish you’d trust me. Or at least respect me enough not to insult my intelligence and pretend that I don’t know about the Reaper ghost who haunts the Invictans, not hiding her face behind a scarf and a hat.”

“How would you -”

She couldn’t even finish a sentence. The heat of embarrassment rose in her, reddening her face. “I mean, we’re fighting a covert war here, Hilda. We’ve got to have some insider information, or we might as well just give up now – we wouldn’t stand a chance of opening up the gates for real, letting more supplies into the city. Although even that isn’t a sure thing. We might all starve by the spring.”

“All the more reason to -”

“We aren’t ready yet!”

Though he snapped angrily, he still didn’t sit up in the bed or remove the sheets from over his head. He just lay there – infuriatingly still and calm. “We don’t have the weapons to army the entire militia, and the Adma is in trouble too. Once we can get them, and us, better equipment, then we can repel the invaders. Until then we have to survive. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you’ll stop going out there to fight them. That you’ll stop being ‘the ghost who hides her face’.”

“Not today,” Hilda said. “I won’t go far today. I won’t fight anyone. I promise.”

“But you only promise for today.” It wasn’t a question.

Hilda said nothing, just turned toward the door.

“At least you’re being honest now,” Lucian said, with more than a little resentment in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Hilda murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. When she opened the door and shut it behind her, headed down the stairs, stepped out onto the streets of a city under siege, she knew that he would not be there when she came back.

The skies were clear today – no Invictan attempt to get past the air defense of the Valers again. Aleks’ machines had learned well, and the few air pilots among the Invictans were trained in specific attack patterns. The best pilots among them had already been lost attempting to enter the city. Aleks had said the learning machines were able to compensate for those patterns because of Arien’s work more than his own. Maybe that was true, maybe he was only upset about his friend’s death. Perhaps both. But it was those learning machines that kept the skies clear – the only reason why that tall wall to the south was any defense against the might of an Invictan army.

It was a strange feeling, standing in the serene center of town with only the scattered marks of destruction all around. Knowing there was a powerful army bent on murder waiting just beyond the stone to the south, knowing also that it culd not reach you – yet. That the army did not dare do anything but wait you out, for now, because they wanted to kill you completely – and break your spirit too while they are at it – without risking their own lives.

Hilda walked so slowly through the town – her steps slackened by a fearful sentimentality – that by the time she came near the bombed-out street corner where Zoe had died, Oscar had already made it to the north wall and climbed over the inconspicuous rope that allowed a single person passage.

Hilda found herself staring at the rope on the inside of the wall as Oscar lowered himself down it, the staff held tight in a sling over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on nothing while his hands ran over the rope and his feet braced against the surface of the wall. Even the Invictan army did not bother to encircle the city, though perhaps they could have. There were not so many of them – more than there were well-armed and trained Valers, yes, but not as many as Hilda had expected for an empire’s army. But despite their smaller-than-expected number the Invictans were incredibly well-armed. Yet…

Hilda wondered how long it would take the entire city’s population to climb, by rope, over the north wall, flee into the mountains, perhaps even make their way to Nie-Wypsa.

They would escape, and they would live.

But Hilda knew the trap there, and the Invictans knew it too. It was a lifeline extended mockingly by one who knows that they will win whether it is accepted or not. Take the lifeline, and continue to run forever – fleeing across the world and across the ages with no end. Or stay here, fight, and die.

Oscar touched the ground and, bracing his hands against the wall, turned around slowly. He must have recognized Hilda by whatever strange magic let him ‘see’ people but not things. For he smiled, and his hand went to his staff, and he quickly approached Hilda.

Oscar’s smile quickly faded, but Hilda returned the gesture. “Sneaking out under cover of night again, are you?”

Despite her words of admonishment, Hilda continued to grin as she asked the question. She watched his eyes as they went to the gnarled edges of the staff in his hands, then back to Hilda. "Well," he started to say, and then he appeared to suppress a laugh. Hilda raised an eyebrow.

"Is something funny?" she started to say.

"Oh, it's just -" Oscar gestured with the staff. "She thinks I should tell you not to smirk so much. That it's unbecoming of a lady."

That only made Hilda's smirk more - knowingly - insufferable. "And is your grandmother always this rude to people who are trying very hard to save the world?"

"My great-grandmother, actually," Oscar said, though the frown on his face was not serious and did not last more than a couple second. Hilda snickered at that.

And then the false mirth broke, and she let out a sigh that nearly broke into a sob, and leaned against the nearest wall, staring up at the ropes. Oscar frowned. "Is something the matter?"

"Yeah," Hilda said, but did not elaborate any further. She didn't need to burden Oscar with matters that didn't concern him. He had more important things to worry about, and -

the thought of Lucian's cold anger was harsh and stinging on the back of her neck as she took a deep breath, the palms of her hands rough and callused by weeks of pain and anxiety, brushing against uneven harsh stone like pumice carving away at the scars she bore -

so did she. There were far more important things than the heart of a lonesome girl.

So when Oscar came close and leaned against the wall next to her, when he pointedly ignored the cynical and harsh urgings of the ancestor's voice in his head, and when he asked Hilda what was happening that was causing her so much pain, she did not tell him the truth.

She told him a truth, yes. That they were standing here, the two of them, so close to a way out - that they could climb up the ropes and flee into the mountains, leave Kivv behind and never face the Invictans in battle, and live their lives free of fear. Yet here they were, choosing to stay in a city if only because not everybody could run away, and because so many people here had been running for so long that they were tired, and would rather stand and fight and die than swallow their pride and make for safer places. They chose to stay, and they both knew that they would not choose anything else, but Hilda could not deny the part of her that wanted to flee anyway.

That Oscar was only hurting himself, after everything he had been through, after being rejected by Graoungers and sent to the south - and for what? Why did he continue to stick his neck out for others when in the past it had only lost him his eyes? His dignity?

That everyone, including Hilda herself, kept fighting and kept bringing themselves so much pain even though they could have - and perhaps they should have - abandoned this path they were all on together.

And neither the name 'Kamila' nor 'Lucian' crossed her lips as she murmured her fears and sorrows to a man from another land who'd brought his own fears and his own sorrows with him across the sea when he came.

As for Oscar, he kept his peace and kept his silence - and when Hilda had finished, he simply nodded, and shifted closer to her, and laid a brief comforting hand on her shoulder, then let his hand rest at his side, and turned his eyes that saw only people and not things toward the distant mountains again, mountains he'd never see again no matter how many times he walked along and among their slopes. When she did not speak any more, he let her keep her own peace, keep her own silence, as the winter winds swirled through the city and were channeled along the streets, and the beginnings of a cold rain that would not ever become a proper shower left wet shining spots on the thin mop of his hair and on the backs of his hands where he held the old gnarled staff.

Finally, Hilda spoke - her voice steady. "They're going to help us, then?"

"They're going to do their best to open the supply lines. Their mere presence there already prevents the Invictans from surrounding the city, so even if they kept their camp in place and did nothing else, we would owe them a great debt. The kings up there have decided that the Invictans are too boastful to be left alone, though. Apparently one of them heard that the Invictans believe they will bring the mountains down on us, which the Wypsie Kings find very amusing. They want to bring our enemies down a peg. If it's the pride of the Wypsie kings that helps us in the end, I can't say I'm disappointed. Pride is..." Oscar smiled, glanced up with unseeing eyes, the eerie orbs left behind by his blood's healing, and let out a slow breath. "Pride is a perfectly reasonable motivator."

"Isn't pride the reason we're still here, instead of fleeing the city and dispersing to every other land?" Hilda glanced away from Oscar when she said it. Oscar didn't have an answer - he knew well enough that he was not part of the 'we' Hilda was speaking of. And yet he felt the same confused tension - and, yes, pride. He wanted to be safe, but safety was not the only thing on his mind, and when he thought of the texture of old rope rubbing red streaks into his hands, the love of safety seemed a little less fond.

"Maybe so," Oscar finally said after a long pause. "Maybe. But is that wrong?"

"I want to live," Hilda said immediately.

"You're a warrior," Oscar responded. "You will live - but it's your duty to protect others, isn't it?"

He was so assured, lacking in hesitation. Hilda flinched at the immediacy of Oscar's comment, and the talk of duty. As though Hilda's desire to live were itself wrong. "I want everyone to live," she said quickly, as though to cover up the shame of her own cowardice before it had the chance to sink in.

"So do I." Oscar sighed. "Even the witches of Graoungers, who did this to me." He waved his hand in front of his face. "But what we want and what is isn't the same. If you run now, even if you could save every single person in the Vale - the Invictan Empire will take root in this place, and do you think they will let you go as easily as you might escape from this single city? Try hiding an entire population in a foreign land where you have no friends, but many people who might benefit from handing you over to whoever would want to hurt you." He shook his head. "You can escape from a place, but you can't escape from the world."

"And you? Are the witches who took your eyes hunting for the rest of you?"

"No," Oscar said. "It's not their way. They wanted me out of their land, and so they forced me out - but your Invictans are different, from everything I've seen here and everything you've told me. They do not want you out - they want you gone. But if you stop them here, maybe they'll think twice about trying to hunt you."

Hilda snorted, a bitter sound in her own ears. "Yes, simple," she said. "Just defeat an unstoppable army."

"They haven't killed you yet."

Hilda glanced up at Oscar - whose unseeing eyes were fixed on something in the distance, far forward and above. He had lost the habit of turning toward the person he was speaking to, which strangely gave him the air of one who knows his surroundings well enough that he does not need to look - or one who wishes to intimidate those who speaks to.

"I don't understand you," Hilda said. "You already did what you came here to do, didn't you? You managed to convince the other battle-clans to help us. Why not climb over that rope and flee to the west? I'm sure you could find a comfortable life in Corod."

"I like this city. Besides... How would I get to Corod?" Oscar spread his hands. "Without the presence of other people nearby, I'm completely blind."

Despite the pain in her heart that she'd been holding down for so long, despite the shapeless resentment that drove Hilda against those she loved and made her more willing to open her soul to a stranger with a cryptic prophecy than to her own family - despite it all Hilda could not suppress a laugh, one that made her throw her head back. The stone of the wall dug painfully into her scalp, made tangles in her hair, and she only laughed all the harder.