He sang to them, “Mother Voortya dances always!
She dances upon the hills, Her blade flickering to and fro!
She dances upon the hearts of men
For battle is our rightful state!
If you were to open up the human heart
And look within,
You would find two figures
Screaming, clutching, wrestling in the mud!”
—EXCERPT FROM “OF THE GREAT MOTHER VOORTYA ATOP THE TEETH OF THE WORLD,” CA. 556
It won’t be easy getting up there,” says Signe. “Biswal’s forces are returning, and I’ve had reports they’re flooding the harbor works. They’ll be here any minute.”
Mulaghesh grimaces as she performs a gear check. She’s still stained red from head to toe, though it does seem to be sloughing off, a little. She hasn’t bothered to tell Signe everything—there isn’t enough time to describe how Thinadeshi became the standin for the goddess of warfare—but she’s given her the details on how the City of Blades is waking up again. “And unfortunately Rada’s house is between the Galleries and the fortress,” says Mulaghesh. “There’ll be lots of exposure between here and there.”
“It’s in a little copse of trees, though,” says Signe. “Perhaps that can give us some cover.”
“If we can get to the trees, that is. If Biswal’s troops are entering the harbor works, that means the roads away from this place are going to be watched.”
“Are you sure it’s her?”
“It must have been. She quoted Petrenko to my face, and the Watcher over there said they’d been visited by a student of his. And Rada would know which families were isolated enough for her to test her swords on—one of the dead boys in Poshok had some kind of horrible rash, and they said in Ghevalyev that the man was always fretting over his wife’s health….She must have visited each of their homes.”
Signe shakes her head, disgusted. “I can’t believe this.”
“And Petrenko was the saint who invented the method of making Voortyashtani swords,” says Mulaghesh. “Rada must have gone to the Teeth of the World, found the tomb…”
“Which must have been Petrenko’s tomb.”
“Right. Petrenko’s sword acts as a blueprint for how to make more. And now here we are.”
Mulaghesh checks the sword of Voortya, though currently it’s still more like a handle. She has it stuffed in the belt of her pants for easy access, though she still has no idea what she’d need it for. Once she’s confirmed it’s secure, she scans the walls. “You got any rope around here?”
“I’m sure I can find some somewhere, bu—”
“And you’re a pretty good climber, right?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that that arch over there,” she says, pointing at a spectral sculpture designed to look like the bones of a whale, “rises almost to the top of the wall. Meaning we wouldn’t have to use the door. Rada’s house is just up the slope from this yard, provided we go over the wall.”
Signe sighs as she takes in the scale of the arch. “You do have a knack for getting other people to stick their necks out for you.”
“Recall, please, that I just plummeted into the afterlife to save the necks of this city.”
“Good point, I suppose.” Signe fetches a few lengths of rope from a storage area in the statue yard, and the two begin to run over.
“After you get me over the wall,” says Mulaghesh, “what next?”
“What next? Why, I’m coming with you, of course. You’re making me climb up on a damn wall, I might as well go all the way.”
It’s the answer Mulaghesh wanted to hear, though she didn’t want to ask the direct question: to guilt others into your dirty business is bad sport, in her opinion. “Are you sure?”
“You’ll need the backup, won’t you?”
“Yes. But I want to make sure that you’re sure. You could see some fighting. I can’t guarantee that it won’t be dangerous.”
“General, this woman apparently wishes to destroy everything I’ve made so far,” says Signe. “Though frankly I’ve no idea why. I intend to stop her, at the very least, and then find out her reasoning.” Signe begins to deftly climb up the arch. “She isn’t even a true Voortyashtani. She’s from Bulikov, for the seas’ sakes!”
“Feel like you’d be decent with a rifling tonight?”
Signe vaults up and straddles the edge of the wall. She sighs, bowing her head. “I do despise combat, you know.”
“Yeah. I know how you feel.”
She begins uncoiling the rope, lowering it down. “But I’m still willing to do it.”
“Yeah,” says Mulaghesh, grasping the rope. “I know how you feel.”
***
As they rappel down the wall Mulaghesh looks out and sees the dark cityscape littered with beams of lights, the roving torches of soldiers on a search. She does a quick count and gauges their number at fifty or so. She can tell by the way the lights are bobbing up and down that they’re running, and it looks like a lot of them are running for the statue yard.
“Hurry up and get down!” says Signe.
They slide down the rest of the wall and lurk in its shadows, watching the search beams.
“Oh my,” whispers Signe. “There’s rather a lot of them, isn’t there?”
“On my mark we run to the fence ahead, all right?” Mulaghesh points across the industrial yard to a chain-link fence about ten feet high.
“We’re not climbing that, too, are we? There’s razor wire at the top.”
“I have wire cutters. But it’ll take time.”
“Why do you have wire cutters?”
“Because every damn soldier worth their salt has wire cutters!” snaps Mulaghesh. “Anything else you want to know?”
Signe cranes her head forward. “I don’t think anyone’s coming. On the count of three?”
“Works for me.” She counts off with her fingers and then they bolt forward. They dart around a stack of rebar, then through piles of soil and pulped wood until finally they come to the chain-link fence.
They squat and look behind them: bright beams of light are slashing through the night air. “Not torches,” says Mulaghesh quietly as she pulls out her wire cutters. “Spotlights. They’re really looking for us.”
Signe takes the wire cutters and goes to work, snipping through the fence. “Will they shoot us?”
“They might if we run. Likely they expect we’re armed. And you do have a rifling strapped to your back.”
“And what if we succeed tonight? What if we get to Rada and stop what she’s doing? Do you think Biswal would forgive us?”
“If we got Rada to tell him the story, maybe,” says Mulaghesh.
“Would she do that?”
“She might if I beat the shit out of her a little.”
Signe looks at her, shocked. “Would you do that?”