The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 5, Chapter 8

Gwendolyn

"Sergeant, who's mother did you sacrifice to get that?"

The woman asking the question spoke so loudly Gwen could comfortably hear her over the staccatic cacophony of Salamander fire, the now familiar volume of someone used to having to shout over the sound of their gun. The woman was asking Sergeant Cadmus about what the empty bottle she had just gulped down, and staring at the empty container as if she had just been told the Gloam was receding.

"Not sure that joke's in good taste, Spitfire," Sergeant Cadmus said. "Considering what we've been doing."

"Killing Gloamtaken?" the corporal nicknamed Spitfire asked, with a shrug. It was strange how a single gesture could change a person. All of a sudden, this hard killer looked young, immature, untested. Like someone who never got over being a sullen, rebellious teenager. It didn't help that the woman was head and chest shorter that Gwen.

Gwendolyn understood the woman's attitude. They didn't call the Gloamtaken people, or even the dead. They were creatures, monsters, Gloam spawn — more importantly they were trying to kill the City and everyone in it. Nowhere in the City did anyone speak of the Gloamtaken as the people who used to be. The people the Gloam took.

Gwendolyn understood. They had to fight, after all. Grief didn't keep eyes dry, didn't keep hands steady, didn't make arms swing a sword faster. Sympathy for the mistreated dead wouldn't help fight off the invasion.

Gwendolyn understood. And still thought of it as cowardice. "I guarantee you, one of those creatures you shot out there used to be a mother," she said.

Surprised by how quickly the words came out, Gwen didn't even consider stopping, and let the words continue slipping out. "Mothers, fathers, lovers, families. That's tens of thousands of lives and stories that used to be out there, in some other part of the world the Gloam claimed. And now what that blighted mist stole is being thrown in our faces. Like we're being mocked even as it tries to strangle us."

And to her own shock, she grabbed Spitfire by the collar of her shirt and pulled her close. "So if you can't be bothered to remember why we're doing what we're doing, just keep your mouth shut around me."

"Not sure you have what it takes to back up that threat," Spitfire replied. The shorter woman didn't raise her arms to pull off Gwen's hand, and just as quickly as it had disappeared, she looked like a soldier again. Looked like a Ranger. Looked like a killer.

That didn't take the cold rage out of Gwen, and she met that threat. "That's your ignorance talking. What you see is a horizon, or the abyss. Beyond what you can see, in the dark and well out of sight, is how far I'm willing to go to stop this invasion. And somewhere in that depth, is the fact that I will put a knife in your chest before I let you get swallowed up by the Gloam." Gwendolyn leaned in a little and asked, "Can you say the same?"

She let go of the woman's collar, and pointed over to her right. "And if you want someone to thank for the extra water, there's a nine year old boy we might all be calling Lord Captain someday."

Spitfire nodded without looking Gwen in the eyes, and turned away without giving an answer. Gwen watched as the woman seemed to rekindle — her swagger returning —as she approached Ben and asked for another bottle.

"Can't say I've ever seen Corporal Poe cowed," Captain Dremora said. Gwen turned around to see him standing just a few feet behind her.

She still found it strange that a man as big as Captain Dremora — the man's body proportions reminded her of a small train engine — could move around without being noticed. The last she had seen him, just a few moments ago, the captain had been with the platoon at the gap, helping to hold the mob by turning their killing skills into a solid wall.