Novel Monday: Transplant of War – Chapter 14

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Adane barely escaped war in his homeland. He wanted nothing more than to hide in this new city with his adopted child Chisa by his side. But every choice he makes risks their quiet lives and every day brings the war that Adane fled closer to their doorstep. Soon Adane will have to choose between running away again or taking a stand against an enemy that can’t be seen and cannot be fought.

Transplant of War
by Meyari McFarland

14. Soldiers

Adane heard the soldiers coming long before they arrived. The barges had stopped running entirely the day the riots started. Nothing flew over their heads anymore, leaving them in silence and sweltering heat. The soldiers’ footsteps echoed through the empty streets of the poor quarter, loud against the distant roar of the riots wracking the rest of the city. He’d scryed several times to see how Musnah, as well as Queen Inina and King Haraldr, was doing. Too much magic blocked his sight, preventing him from learning anything other than the city was in chaos. Very likely, the entire country was in chaos.

Three days had passed since little Dane was born. Farah could stand and move around more easily than anyone expected. Adane knew why. He’d expended considerable amounts of power healing her body and making sure her milk flowed freely for little Dane. The baby was healthy too, strong, loud, fortunately sleepy most of the time.

All the while, Adane waited.

Soldiers would come for him eventually. They, the ones who had created this entire situation, couldn’t afford to leave him free. He’d nearly been caught before, so many times. Adane knew that the only reason he’d survived this long was by keeping his head down. Aggressive lack of interest in politics, magical learning and even interacting with people was what had kept him safe.

No more. Chisa clambered up their olive tree to watch the progress of the soldiers through the streets. Adane didn’t need to look. He could hear the change in their stride when they left the streets with smooth cobbles and walked into their broken, awkward lanes. It made him smile, grim, frightened. At least they couldn’t charge to the attack when the cobblestones under their feet tripped them with every step.

Still, it didn’t take long before they turned the corner of Shiraida House and strode up towards their blue door. Adane slipped out from under the tree, waved for Dawud and Zakwan to stay inside and then went to wait by the door for the knock he knew was coming.

It didn’t come.

“Open the door!” a soldier called.

“Hah?” Adane called back in the broadest Low Tongue. It stretched to three syllables, all full of derision.

“Door! Open! Now!” the soldier replied, anger in every syllable.

“Who you?” Adane asked.

He grinned at the very audible growl from the soldier, silently pulling his magic in. Killing them from the other side of the wall wouldn’t be easy but he was fairly certain he could still do it. His time as a refugee had been useful for that, if nothing else.

“Soldiers, damn it!” the soldier bellowed. His troop shifted, armor clinking, weapons jangling. “Open the door!”

“For who?” Adane asked even though legally he should have opened the door at that point. The Mother Goddess knew that everything legal was gone, swept up and consumed by the riots.

“Damn you, just open the door!”

“For who?” Adane asked, this time in frostily correct High Tongue tones. “State your allegiance or be gone.”

The shift in mood was dramatic enough that Adane shivered. He felt the shock from the other side of the wall, felt their eyes wide, their heart rates pick up. So much fear. Adane could taste sour bile on twenty-four tongues. Their sweat rolled down his ribs, cold with the terror of what they faced.

Only one of those bodies felt confident, felt determined. That was the leader whose mind and emotions were hidden completely. Adane knew that he stood directly opposite him, on the other side of the blue door with its delicate gold scroll work runes, but that was all. It was as though the other person was a void, a hole in the air instead of a living being.

And truly, wasn’t that what he’d been running from all this time? Mages who sucked the very lives and souls out of those they touched explicitly in an attempt to become immortal. Foolish quest, that. There was no way to make a body live forever. Adane knew that as intimately as he knew his own body. Age could never be defeated.

“General Zaid commands your attendance,” the leader of the soldiers declared. “Immediately. Open the door.”

“Hmm, General Zaid,” Adane said. He touched the door, activating the old death wards he’d worked so hard to restore over the last three days. “I’m afraid I am disinclined to acquiesce to his request. Please convey my regrets to the General. Perhaps another time.”

The niceties of High Tongue were so perfectly crafted for irony and derision. Adane automatically used that dialect, used the tone of voice Father had always employed when he needed to be especially scathing to an administrator at the Academy or to a politician who dared to think he could command a mage.

“Open the door!” the lead soldier bellowed.

He finally hit the door, fist swinging down to impact it hard enough that it should have jumped. Adane stepped back, shut his eyes and tapped his forehead, lips and chest to apologize to the Mother Goddess for killing her children. If the soldier could still be counted as alive, of course. Adane wasn’t sure.

The scream echoed down the street, across the garden, like something alive. Its wobbling echo galloped up the street like a ferret scampering for freedom after being inside for too long. It ended in a choked gurgle that brought to mind spears through the throat. Or groin.

Chisa slipped out of the tree, running to Adane to cling to his waist desperately. Both Dawud and Zakwan shuddered, saying their own silent prayers to the Mother Goddess. As the remaining soldiers whispered and cursed on the other side of the wall, Ghadir and Farah appeared, Farah holding little Dane in her arms.

“Gentlemen,” Adane said in Common, “I highly recommend that you run. General Zaid is… compromised. If you value your lives and the survival of Rudrai I would recommend heading for the hills to fight against the coming invasion.”

“What invasion?” one of the soldiers shouted. “They’re just riots.”

“I’m from Egar,” Adane replied, deepening his voice so that they couldn’t help but pay attention. “I’ve seen this before. All of it. Rudrai is at war. We’re being conquered, gentlemen. You can fight but every one of General Zaid’s favorites is infectious. Touch and you may be… well, your soul will be gone. Your body will belong to them.”

Adane patted Chisa’s shoulders, gently pulling his arms free before pushing Chisa towards Dawud and Zakwan. Then, once Chisa was with the other men, Adane put his hand on the door once more. He bowed his head, focusing on the ancient spells that had held Shiraida House’s walls together. They surged under his fingertips, eager to be whole and strong once more.

Light flared around Adane, almost alive. He could feel the ghostly presence of the mage who had cast those spells so long ago. Adane pushed his power into the spells, felt them surge and combine with the many spells he’d layered over the walls. To his surprise spells in the neighboring buildings’ walls answered.

Magic chimed around him like a thousand tiny bells. Adane reached through the ancient spell and linked to one, then another then more after that. He felt his mind expand out of his body, felt the city, this poor, old portion of Rudrai City answer to him.

There were so many old spells, so many protections and shields and wards, that had been cast and then left to wither away. But they hadn’t. They were still there, as dormant as the seeds that lurked under the sand in the desert dunes, just waiting for that touch that would bring them back to life as rain resurrected the seeds.

“Yes,” Adane whispered. “These are my people. These are the ones I will protect.”

He threw his head back as shouts echoed on the other side of the wall, pouring his magic into a great spell that would link this entire portion of the city into one gigantic protection spell. It wouldn’t solve everything but it would keep the riots, the soulless puppets of the would-be Immortals, at bay.

Magic swirled around Adane, through him, wild and strong, following his direction as the spells spiraled into ropes, into coils, into a nest of power that would wrap around the entire district of the city, protecting everyone inside.

“Run,” Adane called to the soldiers. “Run away, gentlemen. I will not answer General Zaid’s call. This is my home and I will defend it. Run or die!”

The soldiers ran, first two in the back of the troop, then more, then all of the rest in a panicky herd that reminded him of antelope spooked by a wolf. Around Adane, through him, the spell sealed itself in a giant clap that felt like a lightning strike and sounded like the great clock tower bell ringing noon.

Adane collapsed, panting. He could feel reaction bruises forming on his arms, his chest, his legs. Too much power, he’d used too much, but they were safe for the moment. Not forever, not fully, but safer than they had been. Safer than he’d expected to be able to make them.

“You did well,” Zakwan murmured as he lifted Adane in his arms. “You did well, Adane. You can rest now.”

“Said that… out loud?” Adane asked, blinking to clear his eyes, to express the startlement that he’d lost his self-control that dramatically.

“Yes,” Zakwan chuckled. “Rest. We’ll watch over you, pass the word to everyone else. We’ll guard the borders of our quarter.”

Adane snorted, the ache of overextension creeping through his shoulders, down his spine. “At least you can use the damned cobbles as weapons.”

Zakwan laughed, his body shaking Adane’s with every gust. It hurt badly enough that Adane curled inwards. The house still smelled faintly of blood or maybe that was Adane’s over-stretched magical senses. Birthings usually did leave traces in the stones around them.

Chisa ran and laid out their bedding, put extra blankets and pillows to cushion Adane’s rapidly purpling body. Farah and Ghadir stripped his clothes off, clucking their tongues at the bruises, not at the scars. Dawud brought him water, held Adane’s head as he drank.

“Will live?” Chisa asked once Adane settled back to their bed.

“Oh yes,” Adane sighed. “Won’t be happy about it. But will live. Overdid it. Like spraining a muscle. Hurts for a while.”

He frowned when his eyes focused well enough to reveal Chisa dressed in sand-pale clothes that would blend in with the rooftops. Adane tried to grip Chisa’s wrist, missing dramatically and thumping his arm against the floor. Chisa picked his hand up, bottom lip quivering at how little control Adane had.

“You. Be. Careful,” Adane said, slow and distinct. “Mean it.”

“Can help,” Chisa protested. “Know lots of secret ways.”

“I know,” Adane agreed. “Be careful, Chisa ni Adane. I can’t lose another family. I can’t. Would be the death of me.”

Chisa ducked his head so that all Adane could see was that dark fluff of hair. He heard more than saw or felt Chisa’s whimper. Adane squeezed his hand, doing his best to tug at it until Chisa looked up. The tears in his eyes were all for fear, none for joy at being Adane’s son.

“Really won’t die?” Chisa asked.

Adane snorted. “No, really won’t. Been hurt worse than this. Bruises will fade. Just need sleep, rest, little food. Will be fine. Two days, back to normal.”

“Two days,” Chisa murmured. He looked towards the door, nodding far too seriously for a child not yet in his ninth year. “Can do that.”

“Be careful,” Adane growled at him. “Let adults fight. And really, cobbles make great projectiles. Big sling shots, whoosh!”

Chisa stared at Adane and then cackled. “No more bad streets!”

He pressed a lightning-quick kiss against Adane’s cheek, set Adane’s hand back on his chest and then darted out the door babbling something about cobbles and slings. Adane sighed. He’d done what he could. Now all he could do was rest and hope that the others would be able to hold the line until he was back on his feet again.

Adane let sleep pull him under. The sooner he slept, the sooner he’d wake and the sooner he’d see just how successful his grand spell was at saving all their lives.

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