The Autumn Republic

Vlora looked as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she crossed the room to where Olem stood by the entrance. Olem eyed her, but did not stop her, when she reached inside his jacket for tobacco and rolling paper. She rolled a cigarette slowly, her eyes never leaving Olem’s face, then struck one of his matches and lit the end, inhaling deeply. The smoke rolled out of her nostrils and she offered the cigarette to Olem.

Tamas thought of telling them both not to smoke in the tent, but he wanted to see how this played out. It was a peace offering, something to take the sting off of what she’d said a minute ago.

Olem took the cigarette and clenched it between his lips. Tamas felt himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The tent flap swung open and someone whispered to Olem. “A moment, sir,” Olem said, stepping outside.

Tamas found himself alone with Vlora. He knew she wanted to say something about Taniel. He stared at her, hoping that his expression brooked no argument, but as the silence went on, he almost wished she would say something. He could deal with her accusations and disappointment. He could fight that.

He couldn’t fight his own.

Olem stepped into the tent once more, letting in a breeze tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke. “Sir,” he said, “our man is back. The Kez didn’t send back an answer, but their brigades are already leaving the field. We have until tomorrow.”

Tamas got to his feet, coughing into his hand to hide the grimace of pain. “Then let’s hope the Kez haven’t gotten more cunning since we left. How many of your Riflejacks have you found so far?”

“Hilanska sent them all back to their own companies. I’ve tracked down about two hundred of the picked men.”

“Gather them up, would you? We have work to do.”

CHAPTER 13

Kresimir-or rather the doll used to control him-couldn’t be moved yet.

Taniel had been fighting a growing panic all night. He hadn’t slept. He’d barely eaten. The arrival of morning had only deepened his anxiety.

“We have to go,” Taniel said.

Ka-poel shook her head adamantly. She crouched over a casket made of sticks and dried grass. It was a box, no bigger than a soldier’s kit, meant to contain a god.

“They’ll be here by midday,” Taniel said.

Ka-poel didn’t respond. She’d finished the casket only a few hours ago. Every moment since had been spent painting thin, perfectly straight lines on the outside using a horsehair brush she’d produced from within her rucksack. She used her blood for ink and it dried as a surprisingly bright crimson, not at all the dark rust of dried blood.

The whole thing made Taniel uneasy-more so than usual.

“Half a company of Adran infantry armed with air rifles are camped less than two miles away,” he said. “They’re climbing from their tents now and breaking camp, ready to continue their search. They’ll find us by midday, if we’re lucky. We can’t possibly fight that many. They’ll kill us both and then free Kresimir. We have to go.”

Ka-poel didn’t seem to agree with him. She kept painting, her hand steady and slow, as if she’d not heard a word.

Taniel touched her shoulder. “Pole…”

She whirled suddenly, throwing the brush across the cave and leaping to her feet. He found himself retreating from her advance. Her face was twisted into a scowl and her fists were clenched at her sides. She backed him up against the very edge of the cave and leaned toward him, managing to loom even though she was so much smaller than he. She tapped her hand against her chest, then the side of her head, and made a negative motion. She repeated the series of gestures two more times and then pointed to the casket.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Taniel noticed for the first time that her hair and shirt were soaked with sweat. Her shoulders shook. Unshed tears shone in the corners of her eyes, and Taniel finally realized how much this was taking out of her. He knew that Bone-eyes could create enchantments. They had made enchanted bullets called redstripes for the colonists in Fatrasta, and Ka-poel had even done it once for him-though he’d never witnessed the process. This must be like that.

He glanced at the casket and remembered the thin line of red that encircled the bullets and gave redstripes their names.

Of course. This was exactly like redstripes. She had to use her own blood in the enchantments.

Was that what she had done the other day when she wiped her blood on his cheeks? Enchanted him? How much energy did this take? He saw her again with new eyes, saw the depth of her exhaustion and how her eyes seemed sunken and her cheeks hollow. Her clothes hung off her as if on a tailor’s mannequin.

She was killing herself to keep Kresimir from breaking free, and yet she still used some of her power on him.

Ka-poel returned to her project, silent as always.