Page 97 of Odder Still
“But he’s a Findlay, isn’t he?” one of the older rebels snaps as we approach, their eyes boring into us.
The woman at their side looks less convinced. “He stood against his mother.”
“Interfamily squabbling doesn’t make a person good,” barks a man wrapping his own leg into a splint.
The rebels continue to quarrel. Ivor lifts a hand to silence them. His freckles stand out against his ghostly cheeks, but a fresh bandage wraps his leg, and he barely leans against the barricade as he stands to face Tavish.
Tavish clears his throat. “I ken your misgivings, I do. Compared to the path of freedom and justice, what is the life of a rich man who celebrated himself for giving away what he never truly needed, who was too cowardly to instigate any real change?”
The crease between Ivor’s heavy eyebrows tightens. “Laddie, you aren’t making a great case for yourself here, you ken that, aye?”
“I don’t think the case is mine to make,” Tavish replies. “My actions should have spoken for themselves, yet the story they tell is one of arrogance and ignorance.”
Ivor’s gaze narrows. He turns to me. “Doyouwant to vouch for him?”
Every good and wonderful thing about Tavish comes to mind at once, but this crowd merits only a single defense. “This man gave his last drop of ignation to the finfolk, to help protect a suffering town that your actions have since destroyed. You’ve no right to judge him.” I scowl at the other rebels. No matter how little a part they played in Lilias’s stealing of the ignit, they did not stop her.
They have the decency not to protest. One by one, they look to Ivor.
He grimaces, putting more of his weight on the barricade. “After what you’ve done for us today, it isn’t right to sentence you with anything. But there’s more decisions we’ve gotta make beyond that, and this isn’t the moment for debating.” He hesitates, glancing at his fellow rebels before looking back to Tavish. “If you wish to leave the city now, I won’t stop you. But if you wanna stay, we can’t have you in the way, scaring people who don’t know everything yet.”
Tavish’s brow lifts. “You’d like to lock me somewhere for a bit?”
Ivor looks relieved to not have to say it. “Aye.”
Tavish wastes no time. “I will accept this, and whatever your leadership determines after it, under these conditions: The finfolk must be included in what you divide among the lower, and if your new assembly is to control all of Mara, the other species who live here deserve a say in it as much as any selkie. Also, I request some decent seating. I’m afraid my poor body is rather spent for the day. Or possibly the year. One of my ribs may be broken.”
“I think those can all be happily arranged.” Ivor nods. “Sweeny! Find this Findlay a comfortable room, out of the way.”
One of the younger rebels snaps to attention, adjusting her glasses with a quick “Aye, ’course, right away.”
I press my hand to Tavish’s shoulder.
Before I can ask if he needs me, though, he says, “I’ll be fine if you wish to stay to help them.”
What I wish for right now is three bottles of merlot and about a hundred hours of uninterrupted sleep. But the sooner the fighting in Maraheem stops, the sooner Tavish’s future can be decided. And, I care. Against all odds and all logic and all reason, I care. I squeeze Tavish’s arm. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
He smiles, broad and bright and beautiful. I watch him as he leaves, his crystal voice echoing back, “Sweeny, if you could speak as we walk, it’s far too loud to hear much else at the moment.”
Ivor is quick to give me something to do—reacquired weapons need distributing, news spread of the company heads’ deaths, and half a city left to clear of anyone foolish enough to still fight now that the tide is turning—but before he leaves, I ask, “What will you do with Lilias?”
He smiles faintly, grief where joy should be. “All I owe is to her son.”
I let him go.
With so much ignation running through the upper city, I find no shortage of energy, and despite my bizarre appearance, the rebels are happy to have someone fighting with them who doesn’t drop under bullets and electricity. Once the BA guards and grunts who live full-time in the lower realize what’s happened, though, they turn on their superiors, taking large parts of the upper city by swarm. By the early morning hours, the group I’m working with returns to the main square, exhausted but in good spirits, except for me: I return merely exhausted, the shock still not quite worn off yet.
In the main square, notebooks and half-gnawed pens have become the rebel’s new weapons. Far above us, bullets might still ring, but the war is clearly won now that the full populace of the lower are bending their backs to the work, and the sheer numbers of them will soon take the pathetically few wealthy.
Even Ivor seems to have shifted his efforts from conquest to stabilizing the newly upturned city. He meets me near the old barricade, his worn expression taking a soft, hopeful quality. “The New Mara interim assembly’s chosen not to sentence your Findlay for anything, though his assets are forfeit outside a reward for his service to the city. He’s arguing for what that reward should entail, but they’re mostly wrapped up.” Ivor glances around, and his voice lowers. “I got word the Trench’s auroras all vanished.”
“They died to help us kill Raghnaid.” Their sacrifice wasn’t for him, but it might as well have been, considering the salvation it brought his rebellion.
His expression falls. “I knew we’d lose something for this, but…” He presses his fingers to his eyes, releasing a long breath. “We’ve gotta figure out a whole city of change—a whole country—if we can make the rest of Mara accept the new assembly. Guess we’ll add that to the list. Still, if you’re in need of anything, we’ve got your back, laddie.”
I don’t reply. My gaze steals across the plaza to the gap where gateways and floor panels used to stand. Steam creeps up from the lower districts, following the path of its people. They need Ivor to have their back, but I’m not sure I want him to have mine. This city is not my city. It’s barely even Tavish’s city anymore. And I have other things to tackle, problems that span further than a simple metropolis.
I pause at the hole’s edge, and part of me, not aurora or human, just a strong mixture of both, wants to veer back toward the fallen lab, to search for Lavender’s corpse among the wreckage and place her beside Blue, like this will all be all right if only they’re together in death. As though their spirits won’t find a way to each other again without the nearness. But I can’t—I can’t see her small body crushed or mangled, silver fur bloodied into mats. I can’t even look back at Blue’s lifeless form, can’t bear to see whether someone has dumped her to the side or placed her gently out of the way with the rest of the day’s dead. So, I do what I can. I utter them both death proclamations, short and sweet, my eyes closed, tears piling along the edges. There will be many more to come, I think.
