The Pulver Chronicles – 35. When Hate Pulls The Trigger

The journey back to the Neha camp was accompanied by softer rains in the night and higher temperatures during the day. This time, the group decided to circumvent Llorysport entirely, believing it was now only a matter of time before the Empire moved to besiege it. This meant having a longer distance to cover, but it proved to be the right idea: rumors of the siege spread out, and every Hexacrat soldier in the region converged to the fortified city to defend it, meaning the group would have had more difficulty keeping a low profile than they had during their first stay. They also elected to keep off the roads, as both the Imperial and the Hexacrat armies were now roaming them, which often resulted in skirmishes.

As they crossed the countryside, Jackson was once again met with the sight of burnt fields. Apparently, the Hexacracy was rushing to collect as much food as possible, while at the same time ensuring the Imperial forces wouldn’t be able to forage much. Seeing the wild, untamed prairies around the Vertrisian Forest again was heartwarming to Jackson, and not just because it meant he was close to home.

Seventeen days after they’d left Darvatera Castle, Jackson and his group arrived in view of the lookouts of the forest’s southern edge. Joanni reached for her saddle’s pocket and retrieved a carved piece of wood which she held high above her head. The group waited a moment, then entered the woods. Jackson didn’t remember when exactly it had been decided to post watchers at the forest’s borders, only that it was before the end of winter. The decision simply made sense: now that the rebellion was undoubtedly in the Hexacracy’s crosshairs, ensuring no one tried to infiltrate their fief was a priority. It took a long time to put in place, however, between the location scouting, the necessary constructions, and the training of the future sentries.

Said sentries worked in pairs, each posted in viewing distance from its neighbors. They used small huts posted high in trees, and covered in foliage hiding them from sight. The two sentries worked day and night, relaying each other at dawn and at dusk. Allowed visitors (guests, traders, and such) were to present a wood carving similar to the one exhibited by Joanni before entering; others could expect to be stopped and questioned. In the eventuality that a large, armed group were to approach the forest, one of the sentries would have to run or ride (if a horse was available) to the nearest camp and raise the alarm.

In addition, several sentries were working to develop a method of communication consisting of hitting tree trunks with sticks. As of yet, they had just agreed on basic signals such as “everything okay?”, “yes”, “no”, and “danger”. A simple, but effective system: any person not familiar with the code used -or its existence- might just assume those were lumberjacks or even animals. Jackson heard one of the sentries communicate in this fashion as they passed by the hut.

The group walked beneath the trees for half a day before they reached the Kudru tribe. The chieftain Buru greeted them, having evidently been warned in advance of their arrival. She offered them to join her for the midday meal, which after several days of foraging for fruits and nuts, they were glad to accept.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Jackson inquired as they ate.

“Aye, a few things,” Buru said with a nod. “Another council of the chieftains has been called.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“Depends on what you consider bad.” She shrugged. “Alizana will tell you all about it.”

Jackson nodded, then the group continued towards the Neha camp.

“What’s going on?” Koval asked. “Another meeting? What do you think it’s about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

A bad feeling caught him by the guts when he met with Alizana, at the Neha camp’s center. She was sitting on a stool, paws joined under her chin, staring at the remains of the campfire. Ardito was sitting a few feet away from her, playing on a wind instrument that looked like a wooden, curved flute. Jackson knew Alizana enough to understand that she was under a lot of stress, but at the same time trying to look composed. He also knew her well enough to make a good guess as to the source of her worries, especially given that he had already seen that expression on her face, right before her reunion with her sister. He pulled up a tree stump and sat next to her, and kissed her on the cheek. It took her a second to realize. When she did, her face lit up.

“You’re back!”

“You told me to, didn’t you?” Jackson said with a smirk.

“Good day to you, sir Mad Jack,” Ardito said as he finished his tune. “I trust you had a safe journey.”

“Barring the crappy weather, yeah, thank you.”

“And your meeting with the Emperor?” Alizana asked.

“It went pretty well, overall.”

“You’ve met with Damian, the third of his name, of the House Destrian!” Ardito exclaimed. “You’ve met with the Emperor!”

“Yeah, kinda had to, it was easier to negotiate a truce face to face than through couriers or mail pigeons.”

“Ah! Have you then dictated your terms to the Emperor, made it clear that you’d die for your cause and that of the people you defend? Did he, after much tension, relent and agree to your conditions?”

“Err, no, not really,” Jackson said. “The whole thing was pretty cordial. There was only one condition, and he’s the one who made it.”

He retrieved his copy of the truce agreement from its folder, and handed it to Alizana. Her reading had gotten better, though she still struggled with the least common words. She let out a little sigh of relief, then gave the paper back to Jackson.

“Good. That’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Yes, now we can focus on the Hexacracy,” Jackson said. “Can’t wait to tell the chieftains. Speaking of whom, I’ve heard you’ve called another council.”

“I didn’t call it,” Alizana said. “It was Culli. She says she has something important to submit to the chieftains.”

“And you think that something has to do with your sister.”

“Aye. She and Culli are quite close, and I’m told they have been in contact over the last few weeks.” She brushed her thumb against her bottom lip, and gnawed on the claw. “Whatever it is, it can’t be good news.”

“You don’t know that,” Jackson said. “Maybe it’s great news. Maybe Neasa died!”

Alizana was not amused. “She’s still my sister, Jack.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He coughed and avoided her gaze.

The council took place a little over a week after Jackson’s return. As they began arriving, the mood among the chieftains was unusually tense. Judging by their expressions and behavior, there was no doubt everyone knew that this meeting’s agenda would have something to do with Neasa. Jackson even noted some contained hostility between several chieftains as they talked. Hopefully this won’t get out of hand. Disputes had erupted during meetings before, and even a couple of fistfights. Thankfully, it was a hard rule among Hellhounds never to use their claws against one another, and thus no one had ever been seriously wounded. So far, those fights had only concerned a couple of chieftains with long-time rivalries, and had been quickly defused or stopped, but Jackson worried it might go differently this time.

The chieftains gathered in a clearing near the Mieto camp, a little after lunch. The sky above was cloudy, with sun rays occasionally piercing through. One thing Jackson noted as the chieftains assembled, sitting in a circle around a big stepping stone, was that they were fewer than usual. Asking around, he understood that quite a few -seven in total- had decided not to show up.

Such wasn’t the case for Neasa, however, who was present as Culli’s guest, sitting right next to her. Culli was speaking to her in a low voice, with Neasa nodding along with a confident smile, ignoring the glares from a couple of chieftains sitting on the opposite side of the circle. Alizana stood on the stone at the center, and called for everyone’s attention.

“All right,” she said. “We’re gathered here today because Culli, chieftain of the Nali tribe, has something she wishes to submit to the tribes.”

With a gesture of the paw, she invited Culli to take her place, and sat back down.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Culli said. “Some time ago, we invited Neasa and her tribe to join us, here in Vertrisia. It is only right for our people to be reunited. Now, Neasa has given a few conditions before agreeing to this. You all know what they are, I won’t waste your time with a reminder.”

“More like you don’t want people to think about them too much,” Sathariel whispered.

“I know some of you have reservations about them,” Culli continued. “And I know some of you have heard a lot of things about Neasa, lots of rumors and gossip. But before you make a decision, I would first like you to hear from Neasa herself. She has something to say, and I think you’ll all agree with me that she has a right to speak here today, to make her own case.”

She looked around at the chieftains and, hearing no disagreement, nodded at Neasa. The latter took her place on the rock, cleared her throat, and addressed the gathered audience.

“Good day, sisters. My name is Neasa. Some of you already know me, some of you have never met me before, and some of you think you know me. As my sister Culli said, there’s been a lot of talk about me. I won’t deign to repeat those rumors, and neither will I name any of those who spread them. That is their business, not mine.

“Here is what you need to know about me: everything that I do, I do for my people. I always have, and I always will. This is why I killed that general in Fort Lardal, back in the Hexacracy. This is why I gave us the means to start our rebellion and finally break off our fetters.”

The claim had its little effect on the audience, with quite a few chieftains looking surprised, even impressed. Others were clearly skeptical, however.

“And when our war started, many of you will remember I was among the first to bring the fight to our enemy. I knew that, as long as a single Hexacrat still breathed, our freedom would only be temporary. So I joined my sistren at the Dusk Steppe. The battle would be hard-fought, I knew, but I was more than willing to die for my people.”

Once again, the mention of that battle caused a reaction. Neasa lowered her head, her paws clenching.

“I saw many of my sisters die that day. Goru, Jala, Nuetu… They fell one by one, but not before taking many enemies with them. My own younger sister Rasana died too, to a lucky bastard with a spear. Before life left her, she asked me to promise her one thing: that I would always fight for our sistren, that I would never abandon them or turn against them. I made her that promise, and I intend to keep it. And so, I continued the battle, fighting as hard as I could, trying to convince my sistren that victory was still possible, in spite of the Hexacracy’s apparent superiority. But then, half of our army retreated, fleeing the battlefield, and leaving many of us stranded there for the Hexacrat to finish their work.

“I do not mean to blame you, sisters. You did what you believed was right. Maybe your heart was too weary by our losses to keep on fighting. Maybe the Hexacracy had convinced you that they were stronger than they really were. Maybe you were misled. It doesn’t matter, the past is the past. As for me, I managed to pierce a hole in the Hexacracy ranks as they tried to encircle us, and left, taking as many survivors with me as I could.

“After the Dusk Steppe, many of you fled south, seeking asylum. I myself continued to fight. As I promised my younger sister that I always would, until it is my turn to fall in battle. Though I don’t believe the Hexacrat who will kill me has been born yet.”

She chuckled, a few others did as well.

“Eventually, my tribe and I went to the Southern Marches as well. Not because I believe we can be any freer here than up north, but because I was following the Hexacracy, still faithful to the promise I made. I was at first merely a thorn in their side, but I soon became a ghost haunting them, scaring their lords and generals awake in the night. Quite a few changed the paths their armies would take, fearing my ambushes.”

Funny how we never heard about that, Jackson thought. He interrogated Sathariel with a glance. The young Demon indicated with a shake of his head that he too was unconvinced.

“As I mentioned, rumors of my actions in the northern Marches have reached you, I know. But as I also said, I care little for them. People can bemoan my ways all they like. Only results matter. And here are my results.”

She nodded to someone outside the circle of chieftains. A couple of Hellhounds from her tribe, easily identifiable by their war paints, entered the circle, carrying a wooden box. That box was big enough for a young boy to sit in, and its contents seemed heavy. They opened it, and overturned it in front of Neasa. Several people in the audience, including Sathariel, gasped when heads dropped, a good dozen of them. Almost all of them were Demons, from the horn stumps on the sides of their foreheads. If some sort of preservative treatment had been applied on them, it was obvious that none of them were freshly dead. All of them had horribly pale skin and grayed eyes, and two showed signs of decomposition. One of Neasa’s tribemates grabbed one of the heads and presented it to the crowd with evident pride; clearly, the gruesome trophy was hers. It had belonged to a Demon, with a bald head and a large chin.

“This man was called Jaldael,” Neasa explained. “He was a captain in Bakasura’s armies. He tried to flee when his men fell in an ambush. I can’t say he gave a good fight.” She smiled.

The second tribemate picked up a head as well. She tried to grab it by the hair, but it was too heavy. The hair was torn, and the head dropped back to the ground, almost hitting her foot, and causing a few laughs. She picked it up again, this time holding it properly, and showed it to the crowd. This one was Human, and had long black hair as well as a goatee, and a broken nose.

“This one was the leader of some mercenary band,” Neasa said. “The Purple Spears, they called themselves. I think his name was Malas, or Nalas. Some of you may know them: they were at the Dusk Steppe. Handsomely paid for it, apparently. And they probably thought their part in this would never come back to haunt them. They were wrong.”

She stepped down from the rock, and picked a third head. The Demon it had belonged to was noticeably older than the rest. It was hard to gauge, but Jackson would have said late forties, possibly fifties. The bright auburn color of his beard almost looked fake against his nearly snow white skin. His mouth was twisted in a terrible rictus of dread, and, just like the other Demon, both his horns had been broken off.

“And this one, they called Polriel, lord of Polran Keep, and one of the marquesses who have bent the knee to the Hexacracy.”

A murmur went through the assembly, and this time even the most skeptical opened wide eyes.

“A tyrant to his serfs and his soldiers both, that’s what they said of him. The Archcommander thought differently, and rewarded his loyalty with land. He had given him a very important task: to root out resistance in his fief. A task he thought easy, at first, given how little effort he put in hunting my tribe. Soon, he became desperate, especially when our counterattacks striked closer and closer to him. His last days were filled with fear. Eventually, he hired the Purple Spears as his personal guard, made sure to never be alone at any moment, and would rarely leave his castle. You can tell me how much these precautions deterred me.”

She turned the former lord’s head to face her, snarled, then threw it down. It rolled over a couple of feet. Jackson inadvertently peeked at the neck; the brown color of the coagulated blood elicited a strong reaction from his guts. This feeling was shared by Sathariel, but not by several of the chieftains. The young man wasn’t sure whether it was due to the identity of the victims or the violence bestowed upon them, but some of the Hellhounds were evidently reacting positively to Neasa’s little demonstration. One of them even let out a pleased exclamation. Jackson recognized her immediately: it was Kadja.

“All three of these men and the rest of them you see here” Neasa continued “were killed by me and my tribemates in two ambushes we conducted over the last month. Some we simply killed, some we punished the way they deserve. These were some of the men who oppressed us, who put us in fetters, who treated us like mere beasts, and now wish to do so again. Slavers, rapers, torturers… We gave them what they deserved, and I fully intend to do the same to any who oppose my sistren. You have my word on that.

“Oh, of course, there are those who say that I go too far, that my methods are too radical. They are the same who believe that this war will be won with diplomacy and courtesy, that hatred can be fought with gentleness. They think we can talk the Archdemons off enslaving us again!” She blew air out of her nose. “I name them fools. Think of the Archdemons, think of all you know about them, and ask yourselves this: what would they do to us if they got their hands on us once more? What would they do to your tribemates, to your sisters, to your daughters? Think of that… and you’ll know what they and their minions deserve.”

“She talks a big game about justice,” Byron said, “for someone who has no clue what it is.”

Jackson shook his head. He could almost feel Alizana’s tension rising as her sister spoke, from the way her ears flickered and her fur raised on her back and her arms.

“This is what I offer you, if you let me join my sistren again,” Neasa said. “To wage war on our enemies. To protect my sisters. To ensure our freedom. By all means necessary. I will teach the Hexacracy to fear us, until they either flee back to their thrice-damned lands, or are spilling their guts on the battlefield. I’ll not falter, I’ll not surrender. That’s what I promised my fallen sister, and that is what I promise you. Let my tribe and I join on our terms, and the Archdemons will not rest easy until the war is over!”

She nearly shouted as she concluded her tirade, and several chieftains responded with more exclamations of approval and by pounding the ground -the Hellhound version of applause. Throughout Neasa’s speech, Jackson could tell a good portion of the assembly was reacting positively to her, but now he saw that about half of the chieftains seemed swayed by her words -and her “presents”. Maybe more than half, he thought with a sudden onset of worry. It was a little reassuring to see that the rest were not as easily convinced, some having gone from skepticism to outright mistrust, which they didn’t care to hide.

Neasa stepped off the rock and went to sit among the circle, not even giving Alizana a glance as she climbed on after her. Her tribemates collected the heads and put them back in the box. Alizana took a deep breath to calm herself down, then addressed the chieftains:

“It’s my turn to talk. I simply wanted to remind you of what you’d also be agreeing to by letting Neasa’s tribe join on her terms.”

She was doing a good effort to control her voice, but her anger was still discernible. Hopefully, it wouldn’t undercut her message, Jackson hoped. It would do no good for her to seem like she was lashing out against her own sister.

“Her first condition is that she’d be allowed to fight the Hexacracy the way she wants. That means she’ll take no prisoners, which I’ve explained to you will do us no favors, and not just because it means no opportunity for ransom: if the Hexacracy had little incentive to capture our warriors alive before, they’ll have even less now. But that’s not all this means. Neasa just spoke of “rumors”. We all know what rumors those are. I’ve told you all what our spies and the Elven scouts reported in the northern Marches. And if you don’t believe them, just ask Neasa about the Humans and Demons in her tribe. Those are not her tribemates. Those are her slaves.”

“What?” one of the chieftains exclaimed.

“You heard me right: she and her tribemates own slaves,” Alizana continued. “In complete disregard for one of our most important values, she owns people like property, much the way Namtar used to own us. Worst yet, she considers that justice! And that’s her second condition: when she said she wanted to join us on her terms, that meant she would be allowed to keep her slaves. 

“Ask her about them; ask her how she treats them. And then ask yourselves if that is something you want to allow, to encourage.”

Murmurs rose from the circle.

“I am not saying that we should reject Neasa and the Klea tribe,” Alizana said. “They are part of our of sistren. What I ask is that we invite them on our terms, out of respect for our principles. And our principles are that slavery. Is. Wrong.” She stressed the last three words.

“Even against slavers?” Neasa said, jumping on her feet. “Is it wrong then to kill murderers?”

“You had your turn to speak, Neasa,” Alizana said, her jaw tensing up. “Let me have mine.”

“You are encouraging our sisters to ask me questions, it’s only normal that I answer them.”

“It sounds more like you are asking your own questions rather than answering hers,” one of the chieftains, Aleo, said.

Others took to speaking as well. The hubbub increased in volume and in intensity, until another chieftain -Buru- whistled sharply and called out:

“Enough! Sisters, enough. Alizana is right: it is her turn to speak. Neasa can have her turn again after, if she so wishes.”

Her turn again? Jackson thought. Ah, right… It was something he had realized after witnessing a few of these councils: they did not have a set duration. While the chieftains usually strived to keep them as short as possible, they could theoretically last forever. In addition, every person invited could have a chance to address the other chieftains. This lack of formality was another consequence of the relative youth of the Hellhound society in its current form. Jackson remembered that there wasn’t a rule preventing someone from calling for a vote at any point, either; he made a mental note to do just that if things took too long, or got out of hand.

The latter was looking more plausible by the second. Even as everybody quieted down and Alizana went to resume her speech, a palpable tension remained among the chieftains. Unfortunately, Alizana, upset by the interruption, had difficulty starting again. After a brief moment of hesitation, she hurriedly concluded by saying:

“Let’s… Let’s remember what we stand for. That’s all I have to say.”

She took back her seat next to Jackson, while Neasa went back to the stone. With a frazzled sigh, Alizana took one of Jackson’s hands in her paws and began rubbing it as if it was a stress ball.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to her.

But truthfully, he didn’t know that. While it was clear that many chieftains had only gotten more opposed to Neasa’s proposal, especially those who had been shocked to hear about the slaves, others remained staunchly on her side, judging by how they had acted during the dispute. Loath as he was to admit it, Neasa was quite good at handling her audience. He had no idea whether that part about making a promise to her dying sister was true or just a story -he had a feeling it was the latter, and so did Byron-, but it had evidently gained her quite a few points.

“I’ll never lie to my sisters,” Neasa said. “Yes, my tribe has slaves. Nine of them in total. As to that, Alizana has spoken the truth. But there is something she… forgot to explain. Those slaves were criminals, who wronged our sistren. They sold some of our sistren -some of my own tribemates- as slaves!”

That last sentence, nearly shouted in anger, certainly got the audience’s attention. Neasa went on to give the same explanation she had given Alizana during their meeting. The barely-contained fury in her words as she spoke of the villagers’ betrayal clearly had an effect on many chieftains.

“It wasn’t out of greed or sloth that I decided to turn these people into slaves,” she said. “It was because they deserved it. I told you I always give my enemies what they deserve, and also I never leave a crime unpaid. These men and women we captured committed that I consider the worst crimes of all against my tribemates: betrayal, then slavery! I ask you: was I wrong to want justice?”

“No!” a few chieftains responded. Culli was, unsurprisingly, among them. She looked to Jackson to be trying to rouse the others.

“Was I wrong to seek vengeance for my sisters, those who were killed, and those who would spend the rest of their lives as slaves to the Archdemons? Was I wrong?”

“No!” This time, more chieftains answered, their response louder. At the same time, others spoke up, arguing the point.

“We are not slavers!” one of them, Naele, said.

Ignoring the dissent, Neasa went on: “Am I wrong now, to do everything I can, everything I must, to ensure that no one, Hexacrat, Imperial, or otherwise, ever stomps their boot on any of our sisters’ faces? Am I wrong to teach our enemy fear, and that their crimes will never go unpunished?”

“No!” the answer came, shouted by a sizable part of the audience. Another part countered them, reiterating their objections, this time with more vehemence.

“This is not good,” Sathariel said, scratching his neck.

Jackson wasn’t sure what he was referring to: the fact that Neasa had won over a good portion of the chieftains, or the increasing dissension among them, which now looked to be about to turn into a brawl; indeed, passions were running hotter by the second, sparked in no small part by Neasa’s words. Either way, Jackson agreed with him.

“We’ve got to adjourn the council before someone loses an eye,” he said, both to Sathariel and to Alizana.

“Yes, we do,” the latter said, standing up again.

She called to her sisters once, twice, thrice before the rumble quieted down some. Two chieftains, still arguing loudly, had to be physically separated when one of them tried to punch the other.

“That is enough!” Alizana shouted. She cleared her throat, then resumed in a more normal voice: “All right. We’ve all said what we wished to say. Let us end the council there and calm ourselves.”

“Agreed,” chieftain Yanu said. “Let’s vote and be done with this.”

Jackson gnawed on his lip. He had hoped the vote would have been delayed, so as to leave everyone some time to gather their spirits. As Byron said, having the vote now meant the chieftains were more likely to vote with their impulses than their reason. And that would most likely benefit Neasa. Unfortunately, as soon as Yanu suggested it, most everyone agreed. Alizana, who obviously shared Jackson’s reluctance, said:

“Very well. Who’s in favor of allowing Neasa and her tribe on their terms?”

A forest of paws raised, some shooting up, others following with some hesitation. Jackson counted them, his throat tightening.

“Who’s opposed?”

Alizana, who was counting as well, let out a small breath. The ayes had it, this time by a majority of two votes.

“The motion passes,” Alizana said, her voice toneless. “The Klea tribe will join us in Vertrisia, along with their slaves.”

She had nearly shouted the last part out. Ignoring that Parthian shot, Neasa addressed the crowd one last time:

“Thank you, sisters. From now on, I promise to dedicate myself entirely to winning this war. This” she gestured to the box and its morbid contents “was just a first, you’ll see.”

“I can’t wait,” Jackson muttered. Sathariel blew air out of his nose.

Alizana ended the council, and the chieftains separated. The tension was still palpable between many of them. Neasa walked away with Culli; after a moment, Kadja ran up to them and left with them. Jackson, Alizana, and Sathariel were among the last to leave.

“Shit, that could have gone better,” Jackson said as they gathered a few belongings before heading back to the Neha camp.

“Yes,” Alizana said. “I have to hand it to my sister, she caught me off-guard with that move. A marquess!… Sathariel, do you think you can find out how she managed that?”

The Demon licked his lips. “I already have a pretty good idea, actually. Lord Polriel was one of the generals on whom we were gathering intelligence.”

“You think Culli fed Neasa that intelligence?”

“That would be my guess. It’s not against our laws to do so, at any rate.”

“I told you should change that, Liz,” Jackson said. The suggestion was initially Byron’s, but Jackson saw its importance. “Make it so that everything discussed in war councils is top secret or something.”

“We talked about this,” Alizana sighed. “I don’t like keeping secrets from my sistren.”

“I get that. Believe me, I get that. But imagine if the wrong person hears the wrong information. Imagine if someone eavesdropped on conversations. Bad enough Neasa used it against us, what if a Hexacrat did?”

The Hellhound chieftain closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead with her palm. Jackson knew this meant she was experiencing the birth of a stress headache. Those were becoming more common for her, ever since she had found out her sister was still alive. That, and scratching her claws.

“Still, the information alone wouldn’t have been enough,” Sathariel said. “I wonder how she managed to reach him; as far as we knew, the man was rather well protected. I’ll see what I can gather.” He hummed. “Something tells me I won’t like what I find.”

They made it back to the Neha camp in the late afternoon. Through the evening, Alizana remained distracted, barely speaking and -more worryingly- barely eating at dinner. Later that night, she tried to initiate intimacy with Jackson, evidently as a way to clear her thoughts, but her mind wasn’t in it and it quickly went nowhere. They decided to just go to sleep, cuddling one another as usual. But sleep wouldn’t come. Alizana’s worries kept her awake, and this in turn kept Jackson awake. Eventually, Alizana left their hut and went on a walk, hoping the night’s crisp air would help her find her calm. Jackson fell asleep at that point. When he woke up the next morning, Alizana was not here. He found her at the corral, taking care of the horses. Although her eyes showed she hadn’t had much sleep, she looked more peaceful than the day before, even smiling as she saw Jackson approaching.

“She’s still as stressed as yesterday,” Byron said, appearing seated on the corral’s fence. “She’s just decided to bury it deep beneath and put up a front.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been in her position before.”

“You have a sister too?” Jackson snarked.

“I’ve been in a position where I knew the worst was yet to come, and there wasn’t much I could do about it. I worried, so much so that I had several sleepless nights in a row. But I was a leader, people were looking to me for solutions. I was expected to put on a brave front. So I did.”

“You don’t think it’s gonna end well, huh? That thing with Neasa.”

“I don’t see how it could. The woman herself is already a problem, and then there’s her influence on the Hellhounds. You saw it yesterday at the chieftains’ council.”

“I saw her rouse half the chieftains, and piss off the other half.”

“Exactly. She’s using her people’s anger, their grievances, their desire for revenge. On top of that, she’s bringing divisiveness.”

“Yeah…” Jackson sighed. “No wonder Alizana’s worried. That vote has shown we’ll have a lot of difficulty controlling her.”

“That’s putting it mildly. If anything, it enabled her. She’s going to get worse. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she made a move for Alizana’s title.”

The young man’s eyes bugged out. “Shit. You think so?”

“As I said, I’ve been in her position before.”

“You mean you had your own Neasa, back in Sakha?”

“We did.” Byron’s eyes swiveled left as he remembered. “Artyom. Nasty piece of work. The kind of man who has a hammer in the head, and thus sees all problems as nails. Always the first to suggest the most violent possible course of action, no matter what the situation. The local garrison may be a threat to a future operation? Blow it up. Possible traitor in our midst? Kill him. A prisoner refused to talk? Torture him.”

“Wonderful guy, sounds like.”

“He had his uses. For one thing, he was fanatically devoted to the cause, and seemed impervious to fear, so we could always count on him for the most dangerous jobs.”

“You used him, just like you thought we could use Neasa.”

“Yes. There were others like him -revolutions always attract that sort of people-, but we had always managed to channel their lust for violence and destruction into something useful. We assumed Artyom was just like them, a brute with a penchant for blood and a deathwish. Sadly, he wasn’t, which we realized too late.

“As it turned out, the man also had an ego -a pretty big one-, and fancied himself the true strength of the revolution against the Soviet Union. He thought that Kara was too moderate, too cowardly to “do what needed to be done”, as he said. He was a big fan of that Lenin quote: “You cannot make a revolution in white gloves” -I don’t think he saw the irony of using that philosophy against the Soviet Union. Sadly, others soon began seeing things his way. Every time Kara spared a life, every time she negotiated with a prisoner rather than torturing them, every time she declined to seek revenge for revenge’s sake, Artyom became more influential. Eventually, it got to the point where some were openly questioning Kara’s role as leader. They started to think that she wasn’t the right person for the job. Artyom would be better, they said.

“Kara wasn’t worried, initially. She was confident people knew what a horrible leader Artyom would make in the long term. In addition to causing more issues than he solved, notably by attracting undue attention to us, the man had a unique talent for creating enemies. Villages and ethnic groups that could have been our allies decided not to join us out of fear and contempt for Artyom’s actions. A man like him would only lead the revolution to its doom, and Kara was sure people would see that.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“Kara was a very smart woman, passionate and eloquent. But she had an unfortunate tendency towards optimism, and that sometimes blurred her perception of reality. While she was right that Artyom as a leader would be terrible for us in the long term, the sad, simple truth is that most people don’t think about the long term. Most people only think about right now. And what they saw right then was that the Soviet oppression of their people was getting worse, as were the food shortages, the economic difficulties, and the failing infrastructures. In addition, we had met with a few military failures. All this time, Kara was trying to reassure her people. Revolutions take time, she said. If we just kept working, things would turn around. Meanwhile, however, Artyom promised immediate results.

“I could see the writing on the wall. Unless something was done, Artyom would end up overthrowing Kara and take her place as leader. I even began to fear this transition wouldn’t be peaceful; Artyom might not have the patience to wait until he was influential enough. Yes, he had to be stopped. Unfortunately, Kara did not agree with my suggestions to undermine his influence among the Sakhas. We’re fighting for our freedom, she said, not to replace foreign oppressors with homegrown ones. Artyom had a right to express his opinions and to recruit loyal supporters, and his loyal supporters had a right to take his defence during our meetings. The core principles of freedom and democracy, she said, do not only only apply when we like, and only for the people we like. We had to play fair, she said.

“What she didn’t understand is that people like Artyom do not care to play fair, anymore than they care about principles. They only care about power. As to my concerns of a coup, Kara didn’t share them. Soon, it became obvious that if I wanted Artyom taken care of, I’d have to do it myself.”

“And when you say “taken care of”…” Jackson said.

“One day, one of Artyom’s people received a tip about a military convoy passing through the region, loaded with weapons and ammo to resupply a nearby garrison. Due to budgeting and personnel issues, it wouldn’t be as safely protected as usual. This was the opportunity Artyom was hoping for. With a victory like this one under his belt, and a bunch of weapons to arm his supporters, he would soon be unstoppable.

“Or so he thought. The tip had actually come from me; I had “accidentally” let the story of the convoy slip while I was talking with a friend, knowing one of Artyom’s men was eavesdropping.”

“I’m guessing the convoy was better protected than you suggested.”

“A lot better,” Byron said. “Worse yet, the Soviets had intercepted a communication about Artyom’s plan to ambush it. It seemed whoever had sent it wasn’t aware of the fact that the code he used for encryption had been broken months ago.”

“Uh-huh. How silly of him.”

“The ambush turned into a disaster. Artyom and his men expected it to be a quick affair… They weren’t wrong. They were outnumbered and outgunned; the Soviets made short work of them. I have to hand it to Artyom, though: he fought with everything he had, even in the face of overwhelming odds. He refused to be captured alive, as well. One of the survivors told us he kept his pistol’s last bullet for himself.”

“Convenient for you, then,” Jackson said. “Did Kara find out what you did?”

“I made sure to cover my tracks. Almost nobody even suspected that Artyom was set up. She had her suspicions, I’m sure, but she never asked any questions.”

Jackson looked at Alizana again, his mouth slanted.

“Is that what we’re suggesting we do, then?” he asked Byron. “Kill one of our own just in case she turns bad?”

“She’s already bad, the question is whether she’ll turn worse. Well, as far as I’m concerned, that is no question at all.”

Jackson shook his head. “No. Not happening. Alizana will never go for it, and I’m not going to start pulling shit behind her back. Especially against her sister. She would never forgive me.”

“Interesting,” Byron said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought your objections would be more of a moral nature.”

“It’s a little late to pretend I’m too morally pure for that kind of shit. I’ve killed people, and I don’t know that all of them deserved it. And in Niasa’s case…” The memory of Mikkon, his face, and his tattered clothes flashed in his mind. “Yeah, I’d say she deserves it. But that doesn’t matter. Like I said, there’s no way Alizana would approve of having her own people killed, especially not her sister.”

“Admirable,” the veteran said with a zest of sarcasm. “Of course, Neasa might not feel the same way.”

“Right…” Jackson said.

He shook his head, then went to join Alizana, suddenly feeling the need for some horse therapy.

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