The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth #3)(22)

“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.

He stands. “And should the Season ever show real signs of abating… flee. Scatter and blend in elsewhere as best you can. The Guardians aren’t dead, little ones. They will return. And once word spreads of what you’ve done, they’ll come for you.”

The regular Guardians, Nassun knows he means – the “uncontaminated” ones, like he used to be. Those Guardians have been missing since the start of the Season, or at least Nassun hasn’t heard of any joining comms or being seen on the road. Return suggests they’ve all gone somewhere specific. Where? Somewhere that Schaffa and the other contaminated ones did not or could not go.

But what matters is that this Guardian, however contaminated, is helping them. Nassun feels a sudden surge of irrational hope. Surely Schaffa’s advice will keep them safe, somehow. So she swallows and adds, “All of you are really good at orogeny. Maybe the comm you pick… maybe they’ll…”

She trails off, unsure of what she wants to say. Maybe they’ll like you, is what she’s thinking, but that just seems foolish. Or maybe you can be useful, but that’s not how it used to work. Comms used to hire Fulcrum orogenes only for brief periods, or so Schaffa has told her, to do needed work and then leave. Even comms near hot spots and fault lines hadn’t wanted orogenes around permanently, no matter how much they’d needed them.

Before Nassun can think of a way to grope out the words, however, Wudeh glares at her. “Shut up.”

Nassun blinks. “What?”

Peek hisses at Wudeh, trying to shush him, but he ignores her. “Shut up. I rusting hate you. Nida used to sing to me.” Then, without warning, he bursts into sobs. Peek looks confused, but some of the others surround him, murmuring and patting comfort into him.

Lashar watches this, then throws a last reproachful look at Nassun before saying, to Schaffa, “We’ll be on our way, then. Thank you, Guardian, for… for what it’s worth.”

She turns and begins herding them away. Deshati walks with her head down, not looking back. Ynegen lingers for a moment between the groups, then glances at Nassun and whispers, “Sorry.” Then she, too, leaves, hurrying to catch up with the others.

As soon as the children are completely out of sight, Schaffa puts a hand on Nassun’s shoulder to steer her away, westward along the Imperial Road.

After several miles of silence, she says, “Do you still think it would have been better to kill them?”

“Yes.” He glances at her. “And you know that as well as I do.”

Nassun sets her jaw. “I know.” All the more reason to stop this. Stop everything.

“You have a destination in mind,” Schaffa says. It’s not a question.

“Yes. I… Schaffa, I have to go to the other side of the world.” This feels rather like saying I need to go to a star, but since that’s not too far off from what she actually needs to do, she decides not to feel self-conscious about this smaller absurdity.