The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,57

regrouping. But you have momentum now. Train that little peasant army well, and you’ll likely win. But the moment the Republic turns south, Vaisra will grind you into dust.”

Daji’s tone changed drastically as she spoke. The feeble, grandmotherly tremor disappeared, and her pitch deepened. Her words rang out clear, crisp, and assured. She sounded how she used to. She sounded like a ruler.

“We’ve been doing well enough on our own,” Kitay said.

Daji snorted. “You barely survived on a single front. You didn’t liberate Tikany, you occupied a graveyard. And you’ve no defenses against the Republic whatsoever. Did you think they’d forgotten you? Once you’ve cleaned the Federation out for them, they will strike, hard and fast, and you won’t know what hit you.”

“Our army is thousands strong and growing,” Kitay said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one? Against dirigibles and arquebuses, you’ll need five times your current numbers.” Daji arched an eyebrow. “Or you need shamans.”

Kitay rolled his eyes. “We have a shaman.”

“Little Runin is a single soldier with a limited battlefield range and a rather obvious vulnerability.” Daji flicked her hand dismissively at Kitay. “And you can’t hide out every battle, darling. Unless Rin unleashes a catastrophe on the scale of what she did to the Federation, then you are no match for Yin Vaisra and his army.”

“I’ve buried a god,” Rin said. “I can handle dirigibles.”

Daji laughed. “I assure you, you cannot. You’ve never seen a full fleet of dirigibles in action. I have. Their combat craft are light and agile as birds. They may as well be calling gods of their own. You might call the fire, but they will bury you in missiles.” She smacked her palm against the maps. “You are dreadfully outnumbered and overpowered and you need to take steps to correct that now.”

Rin could see Kitay’s expression morphing from indignant to curious. He understood Daji’s logic—angry as he was, he was too smart to refuse the truth when he saw it. And he’d realized just as she had that Daji, unfortunately, had a point.

The question was what to do about it.

Rin knew her answer. She saw Daji watching her expectantly, waiting for her to voice her conclusion.

“We need more shamans,” she said.

“Correct, dear. You need an army of them.”

This statement was so absurd that for a moment Rin and Kitay could only gape at her. But at the same time Kitay was coming up with objections—and Rin knew he would only have objections, she could already tell from his expression—Rin was trying to imagine a world where this might succeed.

“That’s what Altan wanted,” Rin murmured. “Altan always wanted to release the Chuluu Korikh, he wanted an army of madmen—”

“Altan was an idiot,” Daji said dismissively. “You can’t bring back someone who’s gone to the stone mountain. Their minds are shattered.”

“Then how—”

“Come on, Runin. This is easy. You simply train new ones.”

“But we don’t have the time,” Rin said lamely, because this, of all the possible objections, seemed the easiest to explain.

Daji shrugged. “Then how much time do you need?”

“This conversation isn’t happening,” Kitay said haplessly to the wall. “This isn’t really happening.”

“It took me years to recognize that the Pantheon existed,” Rin said. “And we barely have weeks, we can’t—”

“It would have taken you weeks if Jiang hadn’t been so determined to drive the Phoenix from your mind,” Daji said. “And half of your problem was eroding your preconceived notions of the world. Your mind didn’t allow the possibility of shamanism. Those assumptions are broken now. The Nikara realize that this is a world where gods walk in men. They’ve seen you burn. They’re already true believers.” Daji reached out with a thin, pale finger and tapped Rin on the forehead. “And all you need to do is give them access.”

“You want us to raise an army of people just like me.” Rin knew she sounded idiotic, repeating a point that had been made clear over and over again, but she had to say it out loud for it to ring true.

She understood Kitay’s incredulity. This solution was horrific. This was so inhumane, so atrociously irresponsible that in all the months she’d been on the run from the Hesperians, she had never once seriously considered it. It had crossed her mind, certainly, but she’d always dismissed it within seconds, because—

Because what?

Because it was dangerous? Every option on the table was dangerous. They’d opened the floodgates now; the entire country was at open war between three factions, one of which ruled the skies