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Chapter Sixteen

Staging Area 3

Kolakolvia

Illarion Glazkov


At the edges of Illarion’s hearing were the faintest of whispers. Just like when he was driving Object 12. From the troubled look on Natalya’s face, he assumed she could hear them too. There was a great pressure upon him, like the very air in the room had grown heavy.

The old Rolmani woman traced a finger lightly over his burns, beginning at his bicep, moving up his arm to his shoulder, then down the front of his chest. She muttered in her odd language as she worked. Then she suddenly returned to the same cupboard she had removed the rags from and pulled out a small bottle of black liquid, along with a long, dangerous-looking needle.

“This is nothing like the garbage art young soldiers spend their coin on in this camp, to be stabbed by some fool. This ink goes where it will. The art is a gift from the gods.”

“Yet the Wall still pays The Needle for her time,” Spartok said.

“Damned right you do. I’ve tried to explain it before, but you Kolakolvians never grasp what I am actually trying to say, so it’s better if I just get on with it.”

She dipped the needle into the ink bottle, then poised it over his shoulder. She hesitated there for a moment, clucked her tongue, and moved the needle to the edges of the scar above Illarion’s elbow. The point of the needle pricked the inflamed tissue there, and a bloom of black ink radiated out. That single stab had produced a pattern of ink the size of an imperial coin.

Illarion noticed a glow, low at first, begin to emanate from her needle. It grew, sharpened. Neither Chankov nor the Kapitan seemed to notice. He was about to speak up, but a quick shake of Natalya’s head made him shut his mouth.

The Needle’s hand moved in a rhythm. Stab, hesitation, stab. With every light puncture of the skin, the ink blossomed out. Quicker and quicker her hand moved until his entire left arm was covered in the black marks. Illarion tried to get a glimpse of the emerging pattern, but the old woman slapped him when he moved too much.

The pressure was beginning to overwhelm him. An ache grew in his head. The whispers grew to shrieks. Illarion squeezed his eyes closed. He thought he could hear Kapitan Spartok saying something to him, but he couldn’t make sense of any of the words. Reality began to fade away.

He was no longer in a Rolmani’s shack near the front; he was in a cabin that walked on chicken legs across the frozen north.

As suddenly as it all began, the pressure and the sounds vanished.

“Now,” The Needle said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Illarion came to the realization that quite some time had passed. “It was . . . it was fine.”

“Take a look at my work, Illarion.”

He looked down.

Of course, he thought. Of course this is what she puts on me. From unmarred skin, to flesh-melting burns, then a network of scars, and now he wore the mark of a great raven. It looked alive.

Illarion imagined he could hear the Sister’s laughter.

“What does this one mean?” Chankov asked.

“That’s not for you to know unless the fates decide you should know it,” the old woman said. “But it is some of my finer work, I think. Now if you all don’t mind, I have stew to eat. Alone. Come back when you have need of my services again, Kapitan. Natalya, you are always welcome to visit. Now all of you get out.”

Natalya was first out the door, looking like she’d seen some sort of ghost. Chankov gave him a hand, and Illarion rose, feeling rather dizzy. The other two soldiers walked outside to get some fresh air as Illarion picked up his shirt. He was about to leave when the old woman called out.

“One last thing, Illarion.”

He turned back. “Did you miss a spot?”

“No.” She pointed at his other scars, the ones he’d been given by the monster in Ilyushka. “I would not speak of those in front of the others.”

“I got it in my village. Before I came to Cobetsnya.”

“The ink from my gods recoiled from it in fear.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is a mark with power beyond this mortal coil. It is from tooth or claw, but the power is not in the bite, but in who sealed it. Who treated that wound, Illarion?”

“I doubt you would believe me if I told you.”

She nodded, but then a strange expression came over her face. Her eyes unfocused, as if she were staring through him, and then she spoke, her voice different, odd, as if she was repeating the words of someone else. Like an echo without a source.

“Be wary, Illarion Glazkov, for you are marked. You have been told the truth, but also deceived. Your road is a dark one, marred by mud, fire, and blood. Enemies will be friends, and friends become enemies. The dead need your help, even as they weep for you.”

The Needle abruptly sagged and fell. He caught her and kept her from hitting the floor too hard, then carefully placed her in the chair he’d been sitting in. He must have made an alarmed noise when she fell, because Natalya rushed back through the door with his comrades a step behind her.

“What happened?” Spartok asked.

“I don’t know. She just collapsed.”

Natalya hurried to the old Rolmani’s side, obviously concerned.

“Maybe she overtaxed herself,” Chankov said. “It can’t be good for a woman as old as her.”

The Needle stirred, blinked a few times, then focused on Chankov. “I’m still young enough to work a little extra magic on you, boy. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I just need some rest and stew.” She reached out and patted Natalya on the cheek. “You have bigger things to worry about than this old crone. Didn’t I already tell you all to leave? Not listening to an old woman, you should all be ashamed. Don’t make me ask again.” She made a weak shooing gesture.

The group slowly exited the home, each making promises to come back to check on her the next day. Natalya shut the door softly behind them.

“Will she recover, or should I call for the medics?” Spartok asked Natalya once they were outside.

“It’s nice to know you care, Kapitan.”

“Her art is good for morale.” Spartok’s response was gruff. “But I do care about the crazy old woman too.”

“A powerful divination can be exhausting, especially with a gift as strong as hers, but she should be fine.”

“I trust a Rolmani would know,” Spartok said. “Very well. Congratulations on your first award, Glazkov. The way you fought today, I expect there will be more. We’ll be marching back to the front as soon as the mechanics tune up the Objects from today’s action. Chankov and I have some other knuckleheads to check on, so we’ll see you back at the camp.”

Illarion almost reflexively saluted his superior but caught himself in time. That was a custom reserved for places that probably didn’t have Almacian assassins hiding nearby.

“Ms. Baston, it has been a pleasure. Your company is always welcome among the Wall.” Spartok slapped Chankov on the back and pulled him away. As they started walking, Illarion heard the Kapitan begin a story with, “Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly was murdered by a demon wolf?”

Illarion waited a moment, and then looked to Natalya. “I need to get some rest. The Wall’s camp is that way.”

He was surprised when she immediately said, “I’ll walk with you.”

More time must have passed while he’d been sitting in The Needle’s chair than he’d thought, because the hour felt late. Despite that, there was still a great number of people around, mostly soldiers on leave, going into the various ramshackle establishments, carousing, gambling, or drinking. Though they called it a staging area this was still the second biggest city Illarion had ever seen, and the amount of activity was overwhelming to his senses. It was hard to believe that just over the next hill there was a war going on.

The two of them walked away from the noise and toward the front. As it grew quieter, he let out an appreciative sigh. It was good to be away from the flickering, humming, unnatural lights.

“You like the quiet?”

Illarion nodded without looking at her. Natalya was attractive, but his heart still belonged to Hana. Lingering too long on a pretty face seemed like cheating.

“I do as well. It’s one of the best things about being a scout. When I’m on a mission, I’m often by myself. Just me, the stars, and silence.”

“That sounds nice after this week.”

“So how was your first battle?”

Illarion considered his words carefully. He didn’t want to sound cowardly in front of a woman, and knew a proper soldier would’ve said something boastful or talked about loyalty to the Tsar, but it wasn’t in him to be dishonest. “Wasteful.”

Natalya made a noncommittal noise, then said, “I heard the Wall made a hole for the infantry to exploit, and they drove the Almacians back a trench.”

“I think so. Honestly, I still don’t know what the infantry does.”

That made her laugh. Not the alcohol-laced joviality from the bar, but a true laugh. An innocent laugh of a younger person, but then she abruptly stopped herself. When he took his eyes form the sky to glance at her, Natalya had a puzzled look on her face. Her mouth opened to speak, but she closed it again without saying anything.

“What?” Even though the pain from the scarring paste had helped clear his head, he was still a little drunk, and he wondered if he’d said something to offend her. “What’s wrong?”

“Illarion, do you believe in fate?”

It was like he’d been gut-punched. Balan’s last words brought back a sudden rush of memories. He stopped walking.

“Are you alright?”

He stared at her for a long time before answering. “It’s just that my best friend asked me that same question right before he was killed.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. You know what I told him? I said, sometimes . . . I didn’t know what I was talking about.” He began walking again. “Why ask me this?”

“My people believe the gods have destinies in mind for us, but those destinies are never certain, because we all have a say in how things turn out, for good or bad. But occasionally they’ll point us in the right direction. Like your divination.”

“What do you know about that?”

Natalya looked around; there were a few other groups traveling between the dreary military camps and the raucous staging area, but none of them were close enough to overhear her. “I know a few things. I know this war won’t end well. I know I hate this country for what it has done to me and my family.”

“Talk like that’ll get you fed to the dogs.”

“I know that too. But I also know I’ll fight for this army until I get my family back. Lastly, I know a diviner of Katia Goya’s skill doesn’t get overwhelmed that easily. What really happened when you stayed back?”

“I’m not sure—”

“The divination you experienced tonight was powerful,” Natalya interrupted. “Extremely powerful. I’m not as talented at it as she is, but in all the years I’ve practiced, I’ve not felt one like this. It was like one of the gods was present in that room with us. You felt it. You saw it.”

“The glowing blue stuff? I saw it on her needle. It’s the same color as the barrier the Objects make when bullets hit them. What does it matter?”

“The suits don’t have a visible barrier, Glazkov.”

He almost laughed at her. Of course they did. He’d caught a glimpse of it every time he’d driven the suit, and it was very obvious when projectiles struck the barrier. “Sure it does.”

It was clear she wanted to argue with him, but she was more interested in The Needle’s words. “What happened when she kept you back?”

“She asked about a different, older injury.”

“I saw that one. I thought maybe you’d been mauled by a bear or something.”

“It was no bear. Your Rolmani gods wanted nothing to do with that wound. Then The Needle’s words had echoes in them, but the echoes seemed like they came before the words did.”

“Do you remember her words?”

“Couldn’t forget them if I tried.”

“Good. Heed them. Keep them close to your heart. My mother used to tell me that if the gods had an important enough message, they’d skip the cards and the bones, and speak directly through one of the rare few of us born with those gifts. Katia Goya is one of those. That message was from one of the gods of my people, Illarion. That’s why Katia swooned. Mortal flesh can’t handle that sort of thing for long.”

One of the Sisters being interested in him was enough supernatural attention for him. Illarion didn’t need any other gods meddling in his life. “So what do you think I should do?”

“What do you want to do?”

His answer was immediate. “Atone.”

Natalya was obviously confused. “I think we all feel we have something we need to make up for.”

“This is different. It’s hard to explain, and if I did you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.” In the few times he’d started confiding in one of his comrades about what had happened in Ilyushka, he’d stopped before they decided he was crazy.

“Try me.”

Even though he barely knew her, he felt as if he could confide in the strange woman, even more than his comrades who he had trained and fought with. Illarion took a deep breath, then said, “I’m here for a reason, Natalya. A long time ago my people made a promise to the Sister of Nature to send our young men to serve the Tsar, and in exchange she would protect us. But I shirked that duty. My generation forgot the old ways. My disobedience is the reason my whole village is gone.”

“By gone you mean . . . ”

“Dead. Every man, woman, and child slaughtered by creatures from a different realm. That’s what gave me that wound your gods won’t touch. If I’d been obedient, everyone in my village would still be alive. The Baba Yaga would have protected us from her Sister’s wrath, but I didn’t keep my part of the covenant, so the pact was broken.”

“You can’t know that was your fault.”

“The Witch told me so herself.”

Now it was Natalya’s turn to stop walking. She blinked at him a few times. “You met the Witch of the Woods?”

“I knew you’d think I was a liar.”

“I didn’t say that. You don’t strike me as either a liar or crazy.” She shook her head, then continued along the path. “It’s just not every day that someone tells you they’ve seen a goddess with their own eyes.”

“She told me to go and serve, so now I’m in the middle of a war I barely knew existed.”

“Oh.” Clearly Natalya hadn’t been expecting that. “That’s why you weren’t surprised when you saw what Katia did with your burns. Everyone knows ravens serve as the Witch’s eyes.”

“She already marked me when she saved me from dying in the woods. Now I’ve been marked again, but this time for the whole empire to see . . . Eh, you probably think I’m mad.”

“No. I read the bones earlier. They told me I’d need to help the raven.” Natalya reached out and touched his sleeve, beneath which was the new tattoo. “The gods didn’t specify if he’d be delusional or not.”

“So you believe me?”

“Actually, yes.”

It felt good to finally be able to confide in someone. In Ilyushka they’d barely known about the Rolmani, as their wandering caravans rarely made it that far into the frozen north, and when they occasionally did, the elders had railed against them as thieves and charlatans. Now here he was, telling one his life story. “I hardly recognize this world I live in anymore.”

“The fates have introduced us, Glazkov. To what end, I don’t know, but I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Illarion laughed a little. “I can think of worse.”

“You may change your mind.” She looked up. “At least the stars give me peace while I figure out what my gods want from me.”

“Maybe they’d give me peace if I could see them, but stars just look like tiny blurs to me. I’m cursed with bad eyes.”

“That can be fixed now.”

The last thing he wanted was more witchcraft used on him. “I think I’ve had enough magic for a lifetime, thanks.”

“It’s not magic. I’ll have to show you sometime. But that’s my camp over there, and I’m exhausted, so this is where we part ways. Good night, Glazkov. Try to stay alive.”

Illarion watched Natalya walk off into the night and continued staring off in that direction long after she’d become an indistinct smudge in the darkness.


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