The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth #3)(22)
“Nassun and I will likely be pursued,” Schaffa says. His voice is unfailingly gentle. Nassun knows that this delivery actually makes the words worse; his gentleness makes it easy to see that Schaffa truly cares. Farewells are easier when they are cruel. “We will also be making a long journey that’s very dangerous. You’re safer on your own.”
“Safer commless,” Wudeh says, and laughs. It’s the most bitter sound Nassun has ever heard him utter.
Shirk has started to cry. The tears leave streaks of startling cleanliness in the ash that’s beginning to gray her face. “I don’t understand. You took care of us. You like us, Schaffa, more than even Nida and Umber did! Why would you… if you were just going to – to…”
“Stop it,” says Lashar. She’s gotten taller in the past year, like a good well-bred Sanzed girl. While most of her my-grandfather-was-an-Equatorial arrogance has faded with time, she still defaults to hauteur when she’s upset about something. She’s folded her arms and is looking away from the trail, off at a group of bare foothills in the near distance. “Have some rusting pride. We’ve been ashed, but we’re still alive and that’s what matters. We can take shelter in those hills for the night.”
Shirk glares at her. “There isn’t any shelter! We’re going to starve to death, or —”
“We won’t.” Deshati, who’s been looking at the ground while she scuffs the still-thin ash with one foot, looks up suddenly. She’s watching Schaffa as she speaks to Shirk and the others. “There are places we can live. We just have to get them to open the gates.”
There’s a tight, determined look on her face. Schaffa turns a sharp gaze on Deshati, and to her credit, she does not flinch. “You mean to force your way in?” he asks her.
“That’s what you want us to do, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be sending us away if you weren’t okay with us… doing what we have to.” She tries to shrug. She’s too tense for such a casual gesture; it makes her look briefly twitchy, as if with a palsy. “We wouldn’t still be alive if you weren’t okay with that.”
Nassun looks at the ground. It’s her fault that the other children’s choices have been whittled down to this. There was beauty in Found Moon; among her fellow children, Nassun has known the delight of reveling in what she is and what she can do, among people who understand and share that delight. Now something once wholesome and good is dead.
You’ll kill everything you love, eventually, Steel has told her. She hates that he is right.
Schaffa regards the children for a long, thoughtful moment. His fingers twitch, perhaps remembering another life and another self who could not have endured the idea of unleashing eight young Misalems upon the world. That version of Schaffa, however, is dead. The twitch is only reflexive.
“Yes,” he says. “That is what I want you to do, if you need to hear it said aloud. You have a better chance in a large, thriving comm than you do on your own. So allow me to make a suggestion.” Schaffa steps forward and crouches to look Deshati in the eye, reaching out also to grip Shirk’s thin shoulder. He says to all of them, with that same gentle intensity that he used before, “Kill only one, initially. Pick someone who tries to harm you – but only one, even if more than one tries. Disable the others, but take your time killing that one person. Make it painful. Make sure your target screams. That’s important. If the first one that you kill remains silent… kill another.”
They stare back at him. Even Lashar seems nonplussed. Nassun, however, has seen Schaffa kill. He has given up some of who he was, but what remains is still an artist of terror. If he has seen fit to share the secrets of his artistry with them, they’re lucky. She hopes they appreciate it.
He goes on. “When the killing is done, make it clear to those present that you acted only in self-defense. Then offer to work in the dead person’s place, or to protect the rest from danger – but they’ll recognize the ultimatum. They must accept you into the comm.” He pauses, then fixes his icewhite gaze on Deshati. “If they refuse, what do you do?”
She swallows. “K-kill them all.”
He smiles again, for the first time since leaving Jekity, and cups the back of her head in fond approval.
Shirk gasps a little, shocked out of tears. Oegin and Ynegen hold each other, their expressions empty of anything but despair. Lashar’s jaw has tightened, her nostrils flaring. She means to take Schaffa’s words to heart. Deshati does, too, Nassun can tell… but it will kill something in Deshati to do so.
Schaffa knows this. When he stands to kiss Deshati’s forehead, there is so much sorrow in the gesture that Nassun aches afresh. “‘All things change during a Season,’” he says. “Live. I want you to live.”
A tear spills from one of Deshati’s eyes before she can blink it away. She swallows audibly. But then she nods and steps away from him, and backs up to stand with the others. There’s a gulf between them now: Schaffa and Nassun on one side, Found Moon’s children on the other. The ways have parted. Schaffa does not show discomfort with this. He should; Nassun notices that the silver is alive and throbbing within him, protesting his choice to allow these children to go free. He does not show the pain, though. When he’s doing what he feels is right, pain only strengthens him.