No One's Chosen (19 page)

Óraithe blustered. Had she been so transparent?
Probably. She was awful at hiding her intentions from anyone but
Cosain.

When Óraithe offered no words, Scaa continued. "It's
fair to wonder about me. And Bonn, I reckon."

"I wasn't sure if it'd seem rude."

"Better rude than find out I'm some spy for your
Highborn friends." Scaa laughed.

Óraithe frowned at the joke. It might've been funny
if they hadn't been making for the Grand Palisade to plan an act of
rebellion. They would take what they could, but the rest would be
destroyed. It needed to be more than a plain robbery.

"Is Bonn truly your brother?"

Scaa heaved a raspy sigh. "No. I wish he were. So
sweet and innocent. He was left to the streets to die. I found him.
He was a terrible burden, but it… well… he came along at a time
when I needed a burden."

"How old is he now?"

"Do you mean how old am I?"

She did. "Both, I suppose."

"I am seventeen. And he is nine."

So she was younger, then… how?

"My father was a thief. Not by any choice of his own.
He had been in the military. My mother died in childbirth. When he
asked their leave to raise me, the Highborn gave him a choice. He
could dash my head against a stone and keep his place and his
salary. Find another wife and bear another child. Or he could
leave. They would deem it abandonment of his post and he would lose
all he had."

While Scaa spoke calmly of her past, Óraithe's hands
had balled to white knuckled fists. She gritted her teeth.

Scaa continued. "The honor of the Treorai demanded
that he surrender his home and his savings."

Óraithe loosened her fists and shook her head. "Is
that why you didn't laugh?"

Scaa nodded. "There is no joke in seeing this pit we
inhabit for what it is. Bonn likely doesn't understand. I don't
tell him about such things. He may soon be grown to size, but his
mind is… well, he is a bit slow. He understands we need coin."

"What of your father?" Óraithe could guess, but she
would rather have the truth of it.

"A guard gave him a wound to the meat of his thigh.
It festered and the healers care for nothing but the jingle in your
pockets. It was either the fever or the dehydration that took him.
I couldn't say which." Scaa's voice quivered at the last. The
slightest hint of the pain she'd experienced bubbling to the
top.

Óraithe looked at the ground. "My parents were hung.
In the square. It was before I can remember. My mother had stolen a
loaf of bread to feed us. The guards trapped her and meant to rape
her. My father arrived before they could and put steel through two
of their bellies before running off. At least…" she stopped a
moment to consider her words. "At least, that is how Cosain tells
it. Their location was sold to the guard by someone they called a
friend."

The conversation died there and they approached the
Palisade in silence. The great wrought iron fence was more of a
symbol than anything meant to actually keep the Low District in its
place. The guards were real enough, but they kept to the main
streets. It wasn't expressly illegal for a Low District elf to
travel to the High District, but it was frowned upon. Frowns were
often accompanied by beatings and being dragged off to the slums.
All of this happened out of sight of the highborn, of course. Such
unseemly violence just wouldn't do. Still, that made the wide
openings between the posts of the fence as good as a web of knives.
The bottom bit of the fence was naked brick. The great black spikes
went straight to the ground. Iron plates connected them at the
bottom, spanning up around ten feet or so. They would have served
as suitable blockades between the district had they not hosted
cutout silhouettes of various scenes from the history of
Fásachbaile. They were covered over with a cheap layer of tin
sheeting on the Low District side. Most had been pulled down along
areas that were less used or noticed by the High District elves.
The closer one ran to the main gates into the district, the more
likely the tin was to be replaced. Even the High District had its
poor, in a way. They ate well and lived well, but they could always
slip. And the poor patrols in those area were likely meant to be a
reminder of that.

Óraithe crossed through first and Scaa followed her,
tossing a pack through first as to not have to worry over it
getting snagged when she inched by the edges of the silhouette. The
pack had a pad for note taking and a few short, knobby branches
which had been dipped in tar. Scaa always kept them with her. They
were short, but a bit of force put behind one would certainly cause
respectable damage to a person's more delicate parts.

The building they had chosen was a small warehouse of
imported goods that sat not quite halfway between the Palisade and
the Bastion at the center of the district. It was small, but it
served as the storehouse for nearly all imports from Spéirbaile
while they awaited inspection. They would take what they could and
destroy the rest. It could not be a simple robbery. Óraithe had
been adamant about that. They must know what this was. Not
vandalism or theft. It was a statement. She had no idea if it would
work, but it was the beginning. If the message was unclear, it
would become so with time.

Scaa walked with a confidence that spoke of how often
she had seen the streets that the highborn walked every day.
Óraithe did her best to match the younger elf's gait. Óraithe felt
that Scaa was an ally, but still she did not want to be seen as
weak or incompetent. That had been the cause of the fight earlier.
Óraithe had to lead. She was the only soul she could trust to carry
her resolve.

As the bright yellow river stones moved underneath
them, Óraithe couldn't help but try to imagine what she would do
should her plans all come to fruition. She had seen the highborn
and even eaten their food a time or two, but she had no concept of
how they might live. Surely it was better than a dirty blanket on a
pile of old hay. Everyone deserved better than that. She deserved
better. The area was a mix of homes and warehousing. The homes were
on the small side and tended to be finished with painted stucco.
The designs on them were bright and jubilant. Some had murals, some
were abstract spirals.

"They pay to have them painted," Scaa told her.

Óraithe had always imagined they were painted by the
owners, though it dawned on her now that most of the faces seemed
somehow similar. What a waste of coin. But then, if you had so
much, at some point your purchases had to become frivolous. Else,
what excuse could you have for keeping so much in the face of the
suffering of other elves. It was a delicate dance, she wagered, to
pretend to have nothing while buying all you can see. It was best
not to dwell on it, though. She had done enough of that.

"Do they do anything themselves?" Óraithe asked,
blithely.

"Only if it profits them." There was no anger in
Scaa's voice.

The warehouse was ahead of them, but in sight. Their
purpose today was just to answer the most basic of questions about
the place. Was it feasible to do with four people? Really, two. How
far was the nearest guard station? Was that station staffed at
night?

The building itself was, perhaps unsurprisingly,
small. Trade with Spéirbaile was as obnoxious as it was coveted.
The only route to Spéirbaile meant traveling through the edge of
river elf lands and they had been kind enough to set up checkpoints
there that they might regulate the comings and goings of people
through the area. It did not help that Fásachbaile had something of
a reputation for being a hive of raider activity. It was of little
concern to the people of cities in the northern part of the
province what went on in the White Wastes, but surely enough those
sorts traveled the same roads as other folk. Spéirbaile rarely sent
traders south into the arid lands of the desert elves, nor did many
traders bother making the trek across two provincial borders. It
was rarely worth it. This made Spéirbaile goods among most prized
and, as such, they were almost always in short supply.

The shape of the building implied a small office at
the front and a warehouse in back which held the goods proper. It
was maybe a third of the size of the other warehouses in the same
district and wasn't apt to hold much. The target was ideal as they
could make off with goods of great value and, at the same time, do
particular damage to a number of High District interests. The Binse
would be blamed for their inability to stop the damage and for
failing to clear the goods more quickly.

Óraithe and Scaa swept out from the warehouse in
search of guards. There were two somewhat nearby, both east of
their target. One lay to the north and would be the nearest to be
contacted in the event of their party being spotted. This was ideal
as they would retreat away from any incoming forces. The other was
not far off their return route, but was farther away from the
warehouse and less likely to be roused in time to be of issue.
Nonetheless, they mapped out a few possible routes around any
interference.

Óraithe must have been smiling the entire trip back.
It was finally going to happen. When they had crossed back into the
Low District, she spoke to Scaa in a joyful tone. "Aren't you
excited?"

"I am." Scaa said the words plainly, and Óraithe
could not tell if she meant them.

"We have much to do, I know, but I believe this will
work."

"Will your girl… Teas, was it?"

"Yes."

"Will she be taking part?"

"She will have to. But she is beside me, I know it.
We've known each other near as long as we've been alive. What of
Bonn? Is there anything he can do?"

"As I said, he is somewhat slow minded. He is a
capable enough pickpocket, but complicated tasks do not suit him.
Still, if he is given a direct task, he can complete it quickly and
quietly."

"Good. I will have need of him. And you. Teas does
not know this life, though she stands by me. She is my confidence,
if I'm honest. She has spent the bulk of her life above a shop
reading stories." Óraithe peered ahead at nothing in particular,
her face conflicted.

"Does it worry you? The things you'll have to ask of
her?"

Óraithe sighed. "It is easy to say to myself that
they are necessary. She will say yes to anything if I pout and cry.
It worries me more what I may not be able to stop myself from
asking. I must be the rebel and play the voice of reason. Perhaps
it's for the best."

Scaa shrugged. "She is a woman grown, is she not? She
ought to be capable of refusing you."

"Would you be able to refuse Bonn?"

Scaa put on a sideways face for a moment, but said
nothing. She had lived a great deal for her age, but there was much
she had not seen or experienced. The same could be said for
Óraithe. She had no room to judge the younger elf. Scaa knew more
of tactics and planning than Óraithe could have learned from her
books. It was her genuine hope that they would challenge one
another and each be better for it as time went on.

They had reached the den and Scaa started down the
stairs. Óraithe waited at the top, looking off down the alley.

"Are you not coming?" Scaa questioned.

"It's been a while since I've been… I suppose you
could call it home."

"I'll tell the others." Scaa then walked into the den
and closed the door behind her.

Óraithe started away in the direction of Cosain's
shop. There was a cool breeze flowing through the city as the sun
rolled lazily toward the horizon. It was a nice breeze, somehow
fresh in spite of the state of the slums. There was no bustle on
the way back to Cosain's, as if the streets had been cleared for
her. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her head
was clear. She had purpose. She had a goal. And beyond those, there
was more.

She had arrived at Cosain's shop sooner than she
realized. Óraithe brushed the curtain aside and entered. Cosain
raised his head from his vials to see the visitor.

"Ah, Óraithe. I was beginning to think I'd need to
check the gallows. Do you still need such an old man as myself or
have you simply run out of the good graces of those who would have
you?"

It was an odd way of showing love for her, but Cosain
was speaking his heart. He was hurt that she had been off for days
without warning.

"I apologize if I have put you out, I do. But I am a
woman grown, in spite of your unending protests, and I should not
be expected to tell you each and every thing I might do."

Cosain put down a pestle angrily, the clinking sound
pricking at Óraithe's ears. His voice was grudging. "That is true
enough. It must be a loathsome burden to have an old man worry
after you so."

Óraithe sighed. He could not pull the wind from her
sails today. "You are no burden, Cosain. You have raised me well,
taught me so much. But what do you expect? That I will sleep on a
thin spread of hay in your shop's store? Is that what you want for
me, truly?"

The sigh was heavy with age and weariness. "It is
not. But it is what I have. And it is more comfortable a bed than a
loop of rope and a shallow grave."

"And what would I trade them for? Old age and
whatever those that have see fit to give me? Is that what you
wanted for me? When I was a child, you said you would give me the
world, if only you could."

"I did. And I would."

"But you will not take it. And so I will remain a
part of a cycle that none seem willing to break. 'So long as I have
my life, at least' is the death knell of freedom. What good is a
life under a thumb?"

Cosain remained wordless, he would not look at her.
He had stopped his work. Óraithe walked toward him, she placed a
hand on his shoulder and he looked up to meet her gaze. Her smile
was soft, peaceful.