them, and staked them on a narrow piece of wood to roast. When Rin smelled them, she dry-heaved for several long minutes. She could not dissociate the rabbits’ flesh from the charred flesh of bodies in the square. She could not walk Golyn Niis without imagining the deaths in the moment of the execution. She could not see the hundreds of decapitated heads on poles without seeing the soldier who had walked down the row of kneeling prisoners, methodically bringing his sword down again and again as if reaping corn. She could not pass the babies in their barrel graves without hearing their uncomprehending screams.
The entire time, her own mind screamed the unanswerable question: Why?
The cruelty could not register for her. Bloodlust, she understood. Bloodlust, she was guilty of. She had lost herself in battle, too; she had gone further than she should have, she had hurt others when she should have stopped.
But this—viciousness on this scale, wanton slaughter of this magnitude, against innocents who hadn’t even lifted a finger in self-defense, this she could not imagine doing.
They surrendered, she wanted to scream at her disappeared enemy. They dropped their weapons. They posed no threat to you. Why did you have to do this?
A rational explanation eluded her.
Because the answer could not be rational. It was not founded in military strategy. It was not because of a shortage of food rations, or because of the risk of insurgency or backlash. It was, simply, what happened when one race decided that the other was insignificant.
The Federation had massacred Golyn Niis for the simple reason that they did not think of the Nikara as human. And if your opponent was not human, if your opponent was a cockroach, what did it matter how many of them you killed? What was the difference between crushing an ant and setting an anthill on fire? Why shouldn’t you pull wings off insects for your own enjoyment? The bug might feel pain, but what did that matter to you?
If you were the victim, what could you say to make your tormentor recognize you as human? How did you get your enemy to recognize you at all?
And why should an oppressor care?
Warfare was about absolutes. Us or them. Victory or defeat. There was no middle way. There was no mercy. No surrender.
This was the same logic, Rin realized, that had justified the destruction of Speer. To the Federation, to wipe out an entire race overnight was not an atrocity at all. Only a necessity.
“You’re insane.”
Rin’s head jerked up. She had sunk into another exhausted daze. She blinked twice and squinted out into the darkness until the source of the voice shifted from amorphous shadows to two recognizable forms.
Altan and Chaghan stood underneath the gate, Chaghan with his arms tightly crossed, Altan slouched against the wall. Heart hammering, Rin ducked under the low wall so they wouldn’t see her if they looked up.
“What if it wasn’t just us?” Altan asked in a low, eager voice. Rin was stunned; Altan sounded alert, alive, like he hadn’t been in days. “What if there were more of us?”
“Not this again,” said Chaghan.
“What if there were thousands of the Cike, soldiers as powerful as you and me, soldiers who could call the gods?”
“Altan . . .”
“What if I could raise an entire army of shamans?”
Rin’s eyes widened. An army?
Chaghan made a choking noise that might have been a laugh. “How do you propose to do that?”
“You know precisely how,” said Altan. “You know why I sent you to the mountain.”
“You said you only wanted the Gatekeeper.” Chaghan’s voice grew agitated. “You didn’t say you wanted to release every madman in there.”
“They’re not madmen—”
“They are not men at all! By now they are demigods! They are like bolts of lightning, like hurricanes of spiritual power. If I’d known what you were planning, I wouldn’t have—”
“Bullshit, Chaghan. You knew exactly what I was planning.”
“We were supposed to release the Gatekeeper together.” Chaghan sounded wounded.
“And we will. Just as we’ll release everyone else. Feylen. Huleinin. All of them.”
“Feylen? After what he tried to do? You don’t know what you’re saying. You are speaking of atrocities.”
“Atrocities?” Altan asked coolly. “You’ve seen the bodies here, and you accuse me of atrocities?”
Chaghan’s voice rose steadily in pitch. “What Mugen has done is human cruelty. But humans alone are only capable of so much destruction. The beings locked inside the Chuluu Korikh are capable of ruin on a different scale altogether.”
Altan barked out a laugh. “Do you have eyes?