Conservation of Shadows - By Yoon Ha Lee Page 0,10
my assistance—”
Lisse shook her head.
“It’s a small flight, as these things go, but it represents a threat to you. Let me—”
“No,” Lisse said, more abruptly than she had meant to. “I’ll handle it myself.”
“If you insist,” Kiriet said, looking even more tired. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then her face was replaced, for a flicker, with her emblem: a black candle crossed slantwise by an empty sheath.
“The Candle is headed for a vortex, probably for cover,” the ghost said, very softly. “But it can return at any moment.”
Lisse thought that she was all right, and then the reaction set in. She spent several irrecoverable breaths shaking, arms wrapped around herself, before she was able to concentrate on the tapestry data.
At one time, every war-kite displayed a calligraphy scroll in its command spindle. The words are, approximately:
I have only
one candle
Even by the mercenaries’ standards, it is not much of a poem. But the woman who wrote it was a soldier, not a poet.
The mercenaries no longer have a homeland. Even so, they keep certain traditions, and one of them is the Night of Vigils. Each mercenary honors the year’s dead by lighting a candle. They used to do this on the winter solstice of an ancient calendar. Now the Night of Vigils is on the anniversary of the day the first war-kites were launched; the day the mercenaries slaughtered their own people to feed the kites.
The kites fly, the mercenaries’ commandant said. But they do not know how to hunt.
When he was done, they knew how to hunt. Few of the mercenaries forgave him, but it was too late by then.
The poem says: So many people have died, yet I have only one candle for them all.
It is worth noting that “have” is expressed by a particular construction for alienable possession: not only is the having subject to change, it is additionally under threat of being taken away.
Kiriet’s warning had been correct. An Imperial flight in perfect formation had advanced toward them, inhibiting their avenues of escape. They outnumbered her forty-eight to one. The numbers did not concern her, but the Imperium’s resources meant that if she dealt with this flight, there would be twenty more waiting for her, and the numbers would only grow worse. That they had not opened fire already meant they had some trickery in mind.
One of the flyers peeled away, describing an elegant curve and exposing its most vulnerable surface, painted with a rose.
“That one’s not armed,” Lisse said, puzzled.
The ghost’s expression was unreadable. “How very wise of them,” it said.
The forward tapestry flickered. “Accept the communication,” Lisse said.
The emblem that appeared was a trefoil flanked by two roses, one stem-up, one stem-down. Not for the first time, Lisse wondered why people from a culture that lavished attention on miniatures and sculptures were so intent on masking themselves in emblems.
“Commander Fai Guen, this is Envoy Nhai Bara.” A woman’s voice, deep and resonant, with an accent Lisse didn’t recognize.
So I’ve been promoted? Lisse thought sardonically, feeling herself tense up. The Imperium never gave you anything, even a meaningless rank, without expecting something in return.
Softly, she said to the ghost, “They were bound to catch up to us sooner or later.” Then, to the kite: “Communications to Envoy Nhai: I am Lisse of Rhaion. What words between us could possibly be worth exchanging? Your people are not known for mercy.”
“If you will not listen to me,” Nhai said, “perhaps you will listen to the envoy after me, or the one after that. We are patient and we are many. But I am not interested in discussing mercy: that’s something we have in common.”
“I’m listening,” Lisse said, despite the ghost’s chilly stiffness. All her life she had honed herself against the Imperium. It was unbearable to consider that she might have been mistaken. But she had to know what Nhai’s purpose was.
“Commander Lisse,” the envoy said, and it hurt like a stab to hear her name spoken by a voice other than the ghost’s, a voice that was not Rhaioni. Even if she knew, now, that the ghost was not Rhaioni, either. “I have a proposal for you. You have proven your military effectiveness—”
Military effectiveness. She had tallied all the deaths, she had marked each massacre on the walls of her heart, and this faceless envoy collapsed them into two words empty of number.
“—quite thoroughly. We are in need of a strong sword. What is your price for hire, Commander Lisse?”