The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 3, Chapter 2

Olivia

Olivia clenched her teeth, closed her hands into fists, and forced herself to look through her nearly useless eyes.

To wield the flame is to make it a part of you. If she willed it, Olivia could listen to every whisper in Wanderwisp as reverberations in the air brushed against a torch. She could count the motes of dust lying on the cobbles of every street corner through a hundred different eyes by taking hold of the exhaust pipes along the wall. She could taste, and feel, through fires over a mile from where she stood. She was immense, perceptive, invigorated, and astonishingly alive when her will took hold of the flame.

But each and every time she did, her power would burn a little more of her away. Her thoughts, her loves, her ambitions and her hopes were what the fire consumed when she held it. Eventually, inevitably, there would be nothing left of who she was except for the flame. And the desire to burn.

Like Cassiopeia Saval.

To live is to burn. The Crafter's creed is a lament as much as an exhortation.

And so instead of seeing, she looked through glasses thicker than her coat at a man she had a startling amount of respect for, and watched him depart. She could see that Valen was smiling as he met her gaze, just before he shut the door, but she couldn't really see that smile. Not well enough to understand it.

Olivia couldn't see if that smile was a mask, meant to keep him from sharing his despair. Or if he was just relieved that the dressing down was over. Or perhaps pleased to be going back into action.

Or perhaps just happy to see her?

"It's an honour to be inducted into the rangers," that petulant ninny wearing a major's sword said just as the door clicked shut. "Are you sure he's deserving, Rhavin?"

The captain wearing the white scarf nodded. "As of right now, that man has killed more Gloamtaken than anyone else in the City. More than my entire company, though if I can't get trains to Barleybarrel that's likely to change. I need people who have fought the enemy already, who I know have the resolve to do it again."

"And you'll make sure he's punished appropriately?" the major asked.

"He'll get everything he's due, sir," the captain with the white scarf said politely. He turned to Olivia, and inclined his head politely. "Madam Crafter, would you take me to this train of yours? I'll explain your deployment orders on the way."

"I, of course," Olivia replied, and she followed the captain as he marched for the door. When he reached it, he opened it and gestured with his hand for her to step through it. As she passed, he turned back to the officers at the table.

"Captain Orelli, a pleasure as always, and I'll let you know how my newest rangers work out. Major, I trust you'll spare trains and cars when you can?" Rhavin asked.

"Of course. Trains as soon as I'm confident I can evacuate Westerwisp before the Gloam reaches it," the major replied, and there was something profound in the shift in the major's mannerism. The small irritation that seemed to rankle the man vanished, and his expression of fidelity sounded as profound as anything Olivia had ever heard. "As for cars, I can spare three. Junction 'C', lane 4. Word will be sent to the comptroller in a few minutes.

"Thank you, sir," Rhavin said, as he shut the door. He turned and began to march down the hall. Olivia had to run to catch up with him, and nearly had to jog to keep pace with the taller soldier.

"You said I have deployment orders?" Olivia asked.

Rhavin nodded. "Any surviving Crafters from the strike teams are to return to Central. The Guild's members are to await at the Guildhall for deployment orders. Further, you are not to leave the City, and no member of the army is allowed to request the Guild's assistance without the Lord Captain's leave."