Chapter 17: - Common Ground

  “You get back here!” The slow idiot roared.

  Exia picked up his pace, turned a corner and weaved through crowds of people. Behind him were Nav and Ksenija—the latter just about able to keep up with the former—they had wide grins on their faces, well, Ksenija did, Navtej looked absolutely terrified as he ran, as if he he were fleeing from actual death, and not half a dozen angry cousins.

  Well, there was a good chance the Torgovyyes might actually beat them to death if they were caught, but they weren’t stupid enough to get caught, so Nav was clearly overreacting.

  Exia got to the wall first, planted his back against it and waited for his allies to reach him. The Torgovyyes got closer and closer with every second, but they were adults—far too big to slide between the crowds like his group was.

  Ksenija tripped, landed on her back, rolled onto her feet, and began limping towards them.

  Nav reached Exia first, turned and then finally noticed Ksenija was lagging behind, with the Torgovyyes gaining on her. Concern immediately creased into his features. “We need to—”

  —”We, don’t need to anything,” Exia shot that train of thought down before his friend could start it. Nav began moving towards her, Exia dragged him back by the wrist. “If we get caught, that’s attention, and we don’t want attention, yes?!”

  Nav hesitated, clearly torn. Finally, he saw reason and let Exia hoist him up to the roof. When he was up there, he extended a hand towards Exia. “Alright, now your turn.”

  Exia turned, and looked at the girl. If she was caught, that was her fault—shouldn’t have been slow, shouldn’t have tripped. Not his fault, not his fault at all. And yet…Nav would be all mopey about seeing the idiot get beaten up.

  “Take my hand, Exi!” Navtej yelled out.

  The fastest of the group was almost on the girl now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Fuck!” Exia ran for her, stupidly, idiotically, moronically. He picked up a rock from the ground and threw it as hard as he could at the man closest to Ksenija. It struck, nailing him right between the eyes, sending him stumbling, tipping, and then crashing into the earth in a heap.

  Exia caught Ksenija under the shoulder and helped her towards the wall. One of the remaining five stopped to check on their downed relative, while the four continued sprinting towards them.

  Exia lifted Ksenija; Navtej caught her and began dragging her up onto the roof, far too slowly for Exia’s liking. The four were nearly upon him now, all with faces that screamed of malice. Turned out, Game Houses cared far more when the person you cheated out of money was them, and not their patrons. Not like they could prove Exia had cheated—they were far too stupid—but that wouldn’t stop them from beating him to near death. And as they grew closer and closer, Exia somewhat understood some of that terror Navtej was oozing about.

  “Faster, Nav!” he growled.

  Two arms caught Exia—Navtej’s and Ksenija’s—they pulled quickly. Not quickly enough. One of the Torgovyyes grabbed Exia by the foot—the meanest and angriest one, judging by the look in his eyes—Exia kicked him in the face, and that just seemed to make him even angrier.

  “Let go off me!” He snarled.

  “I’m going to beat my coins out of you, boy!” His attacker roared back, and terror like ice sank into Exia’s heart.

  Ksenija and Navtej pulled, and pulled, but the man was simply stronger than two children could overpower. Behind him, his relatives were almost upon Exia. It was over—he’d taken one too many risks and now it was all coming together to bite him in the ass. Perhaps there was a lesson here, a sign of hubris, a testament to—

  The man pulled on his shoe, it slipped off, and the Torgovyye fell on his arse with it in his hands.

  Exia was on the roof a moment later, safe, and sound, because there really was no other possible outcome. He was a god, better than a god, perhaps a double god in fact, no, something greater, something—

  “They’re starting to climb, get moving!” Navtej roared.

  Exia turned and ran like the fragile mortal he was.

  Ahead he saw Ksenija leap from the roof, over the streets, and just barely manage to land on the building next to it. Navtej followed next—easier—and then Exia’s jump came last.

  The wind roared by his ears as he took to the air, landed, rolled, and looked back to see the Torgovyyes glaring down at them from the adjacent building.

  One tried to leap after them, but was stopped by another, like Exia had guessed; adults were irrationally averse to risk. He grinned.

  “Next time we see, you’re dead!” One roared, the one Exia had hit with a rock—that explained his fury.

  Exia laughed, showed them a rude gesture, and saw them leaving soon enough.

  The walk back was a giddy thing; they followed Ksenija through the obscure corners and poorly lit alleys that she’d promised would draw them no attention.

  “You’re hopping like a chimtu” Navtej noted, smiling as he walked beside him; he looked just as giddy as Exia felt.

  Exia turned to him, frowning ever so slightly. “Chim—oh, ‘bunny.’” His grin widened. “Well, I suppose I am…excited. Not a bunny.”

  Navtej laughed, looked up ahead, and smiled warmly at nothing. There was a long silence. And then he set his eyes back on Exia, gaze burning with warmth,

  and spoke. “I’ve always wanted a brother.”

  Exia shrugged. “Huh, never wanted one. Loved being an only child, loved the attention even more.”

  Navtej awkwardly nodded at that. “Of course, siblings can be a hassle.”

  Exia laughed, wrapped an arm around the idiot's shoulder and pulled his friend against him. “I never wanted a brother,” Exia reiterated. “But if I did have to pick someone I was forced to share my toys with, someone to absolutely scorn the day they were born, someone to loathe till the very day I die…you, would not be such a horrible choice.”

  Navtej frowned heatlessly. “You have such a way with words,” he told Exia, and then his expression broke into a smile.

  It did not take long before they were in Ksenija’s hideout. It was an abandoned shop at the edge of the district—abandoned for decades judging by the state of it—and it seemed she was its sole occupant and he and Navtej her temporary guests.

  Nav was sat on a dilapidated couch by a corner, counting his money excitedly with bright eyes.

  The Putesh was nothing like his father, he was warm, honest, and kind where the General was made of treachery and lies.

  But then Volkov was once my Uncle, until he betrayed Father.

  No, Navtej was his friend. He was his only friend really.

  Footsteps approached, and Exia turned to see Ksenija walking towards him. The girl’s eyes were narrow—her black gaze piercing through him in a way he’d only ever seen in one other child: Nav. Hers were worse in that not only did they lack the warmth his radiated, but he also did not trust her in the least. Her words were not what Exia had expected however. “You came back to save me…” she frowned.

  Exia paused, then grinned. Ah yes, he was a hero wasn’t he. It was only right that the maidens be awed by his heroics. Exia smirked. “Well, I couldn’t just let them have you, I had to do something, no matter the cost, no matter the weight. No matter the sacrifice.”

  Ksenija’s expression shifted—into one of mockery. “Gods, you’re a fucking idiot. What part of every man for themselves did you not understand?” She laughed. “What if you were caught, what if we were both caught, you’d have been skinned, beaten—beaten and skinned.”

  Exia rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, should have left you to the Torgovyye.”

  Ksenija was wheezing with her laughter now. “Yes, yes, you should have, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Exia pointedly turned and began walking away.

  “Wait!” Ksenija called out.

  Exia stopped, turned back, and waited for the apology to come.

  The girl hesitated, as if uncertain how best to phrase her words. “What’s it like working for the General?”

  Those were not the words Exia had been expecting to come out of her mouth. Though the answer was simple: it was like being under the thumb of a vicious feline, toying and gnawing at any hint of weakness within you. But he couldn’t say that—he had to act like one of the brainwashed peasants under Volkov’s command. “He’s fine,” Exia said, simple and short.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She looked disappointed at that, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Exia did find a question nagging within his mind however, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to ask it. “What do you think of the General?” he asked.

  Ksenija shrugged. “I’ve heard that things were much worse under King Sirel—they say he only cared about filling his own coffers, heard he’s the only reason we’re in this mess with Voin in the first place.”

  That was a lie—a lie spread by Volkov no doubt—Voin had disrespected the crown; it had disrespected all of Bessmertnyy. It was those ring-wearing fucks who had started it all, who had caused the war, who had caused the revolution, who had caused the death of his—

  “But people are still starving, the streets still smell like shit, guards are still ramming sticks up the arse of anyone who looks at them funny, boys are still being picked off the streets and thrown into the war, and those who come back—if they come back at all—never come back whole,” Ksenija continued, gaze hot now, bleeding like molten magma as they melted into the floor. “So if you ask me, the General can go fuck himself with a glove.”

  There was silence, and then Ksenija frowned slightly at Exia. “Why are you smiling like an idiot?”

  Exia shook his head. “No reason. I just think we're going to have a very promising partnership,” he extended a hand out at the girl.

  Ksenija scoffed at the palm, hints of a smile flowing at the edge of her lip. “You’re weird,” she looked over at a distractedly counting Navtej “the both of you are, really,” she hesitated, sighed, smiled, and then shook Exia’s hand.

  ###

  Exia journeyed through the snow with his eyes locked forth, to the distant city of Snegovetska he knew was far up ahead. He was alone now, because the Captain had journeyed into the woods to see if she might be able to find high enough elevation to correctly gauge their distance from the border city.

  By his estimation, the walk would take them ten to twelve hours to get to their destination. Navtej would arrive in Snegovetska in just over an hour from now, and he’d be trying to figure out how to make his way out of Bessmertnyy, and into Lezviye territories.

  There were two options: the first would be to go around the lake, which was no option at all—travelling around Lake Nyelvansk was a great trek, filled with great beasts and even worse terrain—put simply, he’d die.

  The second option would be to travel across the lake—that was how the Veltrassi typically did it—but at this time of the year it was a coin flip as to whether or not the ice would be thick enough to walk upon. A coin flip as to whether or not he was going to lose Nav or not.

  The frustration needled Exia to no end, the fury came next, and then redoubled at the realization that he’d lost him the second time. There was something he was missing, something crucial that made Nav turn on the Republic—turn on him.

  Exia, for all his might, found his mind unable to find what that was.

  So he just kept being angry.

  Something approached—four things to be exact, all on horseback, and covered from head to toe in brightly coloured mercenary wears.

  “Halt!” the tallest of the group yelled, and Exia set his eyes on the idiot. He was of merchant descent, judging by the sound of his tongue and the emptiness in his eyes—about three decades seen, and very little learnt from them, Exia imagined. “I said, halt!” the idiot growled, and he and his friends circled Exia with their horses.

  Exia halted.

  That seemed to please the man, and he grinned his delight. “You should learn to show some respect, boy, we’re cleaning up your woods.” Ah, a Skitalet. ‘Adventurer’ was the more common term for them—children of wealthy individuals who decided that they cared little for the ‘following orders’ part of the military, and much for the killing people aspect instead. They were often hired by the Republic, either to kill people, or kill Fairies. Never in a place where collateral damage was of much concern. These ones had chosen the latter. “Are you just going to stare? Or do I have to beat an apology out of you?!” The idiot snarled.

  Exia had a lot of frustration to let loose, and no gloves to vent it out through. He set his eyes on the Skitalet—his gloves were down by his belt, dangling openly, invitingly—any soldier worth their salt would not keep their gloves so exposed. But luckily for Exia, these were no soldiers.

  ###

  Thirteen hours. It would take Sasha and the King thirteen hours to make it to that city. That was unfortunate, but the facts didn’t lie, and she’d seen it for herself when she crawled up onto that rock, and glimpsed the smoke churning into the air from Snegovetska’s factories.

  The moment she got there, the first thing she’d need to do was update the General as to the new developments. The King’s actions, and the actions of…his son. Sasha didn’t want to think about that, it was not her place to judge, her duty was to—to soldier, she thought sourly.

  The King’s words hissed against her mind, and Sasha batted them away. She was doing good. She did good when they saved Gorodlzhi from those killers—killers who were under the command of Dalinevsky, Dalinevsky who they killed. That was good, but that was treason. The kind that her nation would hang her like an animal for if word of it ever got out.

  The thought made Sasha near sick with terror.

  But there was Znaniye—there, the Zakadochnyy was killed. But Belvakin might be dead too. And if he was alive, would that have been such a great thing? To save the man who thought her a fool, the man who thought her an idiot simply because of an absence between her legs.

  Would it be better if he was dead?

  No. There was a logic to it—there were compromises, rules, principles. But why did it all feel so hollow? When she saved her squad, when she pulled men along through trenches, when she fought in the war, every victory, every loss meant something. This didn’t.

  But when the General Volkov—one of the few men who actually respected her—called, who was she to reject him.

  Was it because of that you left, or was it because the killing felt just as hollow there as it does here?

  Sasha drew in a breath, she buried her thoughts, her doubts, and turned away from them—not because it was not her place to question, nor because she thought she lacked the facilities to find the answers she searched for, but simply because there were more important things ahead of her now, and everyone was better served with her mind put into them instead.

  Sasha pressed on through the forest.

  When she emerged, her breath escaped her, and her stomach turned.

  She saw the King, standing in the snow and idly petting a horse. Around him were three others; around them were mangled corpses, twisted and torn in ways that made the true number of dead impossible to be certain of. There were anywhere from ten to three people scattered at his feet.

  The King himself was drenched from head to toe in red—bits and pieces, chunks of once-people clung onto his garment and dripped crimson into the white snow.

  His eyes fell on Sasha, and they made the winter feel warm by comparison. When he spoke, it was with the calm of a dead lake. “Captain. I have secured us steeds.”

  ###

  Navtej gazed at his open palm—within it was his necklace—the weapon that marked him as a Shifter, an outsider, and now the weapon he had turned against his brother. His guts turned, squeezed, and he nearly puked, and then he calmed himself.

  Betrayal was always going to be a part of this. He knew that. He had always known that. He just hadn’t thought he’d have to face Exia—at least not so soon—see the dismay in his eyes, the hurt, the pain, the desperation to help. But he couldn’t help—he couldn’t bring that upon him. It would not be right.

  Navtej was alone, sitting in an empty opera house in the city of Snegovetska, and awaiting his contact. Here, with the world around him still as death, and the sounds of the city dulled by the heavy walls, he was forced to confront his thoughts.

  He focused on the good, or at least as close to good as he could manage given the situation at hand. He’d killed Belavkin—he’d had to do it Shifted; he’d had to do it messily; but he’d done it all the same. What did it matter though? With the Captain and Exia alerted, he had as good as failed already.

  His only option was to leave the country.

  Something pressed against the back of his skull—a gun—Navtej froze, took in a breath, and waited to see if he would hear the true voice of Khangil today. It was that of a woman which met him instead. “State your name,” she ordered.

  “Navtej Volkov,” He told her.

  Nothing happened, and then the pressure of the gun on his head vanished.

  He got to his feet, turned and saw the speaker smiling at him. A mercenary—black hair, black eyes, red scarf, and a gaze that seemed to pierce right through him.

  “Were the theatrics truly necessary?” Navtej asked, trying to inject heat into his words but finding only warmth—he truly had missed her.

  “Can never be too sure,” Ksenija said, sliding her weapon back into its holster. “Good to see you, Navi,” she added, grin widening. “Now tell me, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, and what can I do to get you out of it.”