Sol Invictus 5: The Threshing Floor
The column headed west along a route that resembled a parade more than a military expedition. The air smelled of ash and unwashed bodies, and burned-out vehicles had been dragged from the road. Nevertheless, the people came out to celebrate their savior. Parents lifted children onto their shoulders, elders scattered flowers and handfuls of confetti, and their cheers drowned out the roar of the engines.
“¡Libertadora!” and “¡La Arconte!” were the most common cries, along with even a few shouts of “¡Viva la salvadora!” that had Father Arpacio frowning.
“Forgive them, Father. They are simply excited,” Diego yelled over the roar of the convoy.
“It is not my forgiveness they need, but that will not stop me from fearing for their souls,” the priest responded.
“How many of these people were hiding in their basements with their families and praying for a savior only yesterday?” Diego asked.“Can you really blame them for calling her one?”
The priest nodded reluctantly, but he looked troubled. “It is one thing to recognize that the Holy Archon was sent by God and has saved us from peril. It is another to turn to the idolatry of the so-called Archonists and embrace her as a pagan god.”
Diego shrugged. He was, of course, still a Son of Mother Church. But he understood the people’s fear. He remembered standing with his back to a cellar door, his saber in his hands, Pedro and his farm hands at his side, as they beat back what had felt like an endless assault from the Abyss.
And just when they had thought it was over…
The golden demon. The countdown as Diego and the others scrambled into the cellar, nothing to do but pray. The Earth shaking and trembling as the Nail descended.
And then the endless, never-ceasing hunger and whispers of the Abyss. Even after Zion’s vile nail, the monsters kept coming.
They can call her what they wish, so long as she saves my people, Diego thought, but did not speak it out of respect for the old priest.
Mavuika took her time, slowing to about thirty kilometers an hour as she smiled and waved to the crowds. Along the route, new faces joined the column without waiting to be called. Diego watched a father and son pull in beside one another on motorcycles with matching flame decals, each carrying a spiked baseball bat.
Three young women arrived wearing their best jewelry, their long nails hand-painted with the red swirls of Pyro Visions. Carlo bluntly informed them that they could keep the nails or follow Mavuika, but not both. Two laughed and turned back. The third drew a knife, hacked her nails short, and demanded a place in the column.
And there were so many more.
Their group of a hundred swelled in size, ballooning to nearly a thousand. Diego was becoming concerned: A hundred was a large enough group to be formidable, but not so large as to be unwieldy. But a thousand? His mind began to think not of a grand army, but potential problems.
How were they supposed to feed everyone? They had no supply trailers, no field kitchens, and no plan beyond whatever charity they found along the road. Then there were the vehicles. With this many motorcycles, trucks, and cars, breakdowns were inevitable. Had anyone brought tools? Spare parts? Fuel?
And sanitation. The Abyss had shattered water mains and sewers across the region. A thousand people needed carefully planned facilities, or disease would be rampant.
Diego was no general, but he was a wealthy landowner who ran several businesses and employed hundreds of farmhands. He knew exactly how quickly a large workforce became unmanageable without these things. At this scale, faith alone would not get the job done. They needed a plan.
Did Mavuika understand this? It was one thing to be a legendary warrior who could smite an Endbringer. It was another to lead an army. Diego had rallied the defenders of Estadio Azteca and held them together for three days, but he knew instinct and charisma alone would not be enough to command a force this size.
He would simply have to pray. And trust that God and Mavuika both knew what they were doing.
They finally passed out of the urban sprawl, and into the wooded mountains of Desierto de Los Leones. The road was still wide, though with plenty of wrecked or abandoned vehicles, but Mavuika pulled her bike up, raising a fist. The column came to a halt, and Mavuika motioned to Father Arpacio, Diego, and Carlo to join her at the side of the road, where they looked down at the pine trees lining the slopes and valleys. Even under the light of the two suns, there were patches of dark fog. Silence filled the valley, the kind of silence that came only with the absence of living things.
Mavuika nodded, her expression grim. She made a motion that had obvious ritual significance, cupped fingers like she was holding a flame, passing over her face, and then flung over her left shoulder. She spoke one word: “Abyss.”
Diego nodded grimly. “Yes. The monsters, they came out of the woods first, into the city. They overwhelmed Los Valientes in under an hour on the first day. After that…they ran wild.”
In a blink, she went, well, there was no dignified way for Diego to think it: Super Saiyan. Her red hair blazed gold and lengthened behind her as power rolled off her in waves. His treacherous mind even supplied the ridiculous rising whine that accompanied Goku’s transformations.
Stop it. This isn’t some children’s fantasy, this is a war for the survival of your people, he told himself, and focused on the task at hand.
Then this shall be our threshing floor, Mavuika said in absolutely perfect Spanish.
“How do you keep doing that?” Carlo muttered, shaking his head. “One moment you can’t even keep your el from your la straight, and the next you sound even more educated than the Priest.”
When I wear the Mantle of the Pyro Archon, I speak to your soul, not your ears, Cuāuhtlācatl, Mavuika said gravely.
She pointed down the winding road. Ahead, two burned-out buses blocked most of the pavement, forcing traffic into a narrow gap just before the road passed beneath an overpass. The ground rose sharply on one side, where darkness clung between the trees. On the other, the slope fell into a shallow ravine filled with pooling fog.
Our enemy awaits us. There is no time for me to properly learn the language of this land before battle is joined. Regrettably, shortcuts must be taken.
“I don’t like the look of that,” Carlo said. “The buses funnel us beneath the overpass, and both slopes offer cover. It’s too perfect.”
Your instincts are correct. There is an ambush. Mavuika pointed toward the darkened trees. Archers on the high ground. At least a dozen creatures concealed among the buses, perhaps more.
Her hand shifted toward the overpass.
And there? Mages. From below, a concealed force to flank. They will wait until the column passes beneath them, then close the trap from both sides.
Diego narrowed his eyes. Now that she had pointed it out, he could see the shape of it. The fighting in Mexico City had taught him to distrust every intersection, every rooftop, and every darkened storefront.
“We have some guns,” he said. “Should we engage from range?”
No, Captain Diego, Mavuika said, shaking her head.You are to lead the warriors straight into it.
Diego flinched. “That…that will get people killed.”
Mavuika met his eyes. Yes. It may. This is war.
I will destroy the larger force waiting below before it can climb the slope and fall upon your flank, Mavuika said, gesturing to the fog shrouded ravine. With luck, no one will die here. But I must know who will stand and fight, who will break and flee, and who is reckless enough to become a liability to everyone around them.
“Surely there must be some other way, one that doesn’t risk the lives of these people,” Diego half begged. “You gave them hope! We cannot then lead them into death!”
I cannot know this without separating the wheat from the chaff. Had I a year and a dozen experienced warriors, I could discover this without bleeding the recruits. But the Abyss is here, now. I will do what I can to soften the blow. But better a minor skirmish where I can dictate the engagement than a pitched battle that risks becoming a slaughter.
Mavuika’s fiery gaze bore into Diego’s soul. Do you trust me, Diego?
Diego took a moment to look behind them. He saw young teenagers with more enthusiasm than sense. He saw old men with nothing else to lose, and women with grey in their hair determined to protect what they had left. They were all people, all precious. Did he trust Mavuika to lead them?
He turned back, and nodded. “Yes, Archon. I can only hope my courage will be a match for those you lead.”
That I do not doubt. If you can charge an Abyssal Lord with nothing but courage and farming equipment, then you can handle a little ambush from some hilichurls, she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Mavuika then turned to Carlo. Captain Carlo, you are to stand back and observe. Your powers and courage are not what is being tested here: you are to identify who is ready to face the Abyss, and who is best served by being given other tasks. Keep a special eye out for any who rally their comrades or keep an especially cool head. We need sergeants who can keep a squad together in the heat of battle.
“Understood, ma’am,” Carlo said, snapping off a salute that was far too Hegemony for the occasion.
Last, Mavuika turned to Arpacio and bowed. Honored Father, I must ask that you stay back. Your wisdom and knowledge cannot be risked. Heal the wounded, and find those who are skilled in such things. I do not doubt your faith, nor your courage. You are simply too valuable to waste needlessly in such a minor engagement.
“My Lady, I would doubt your wisdom if you didn’t ask the tired old man to keep out of the way. War is a young man’s business. I have some experience caring for the wounded from my time tending to my flock in the villages, but little knowledge of how to use your Divine Gift to heal,” Arpacio said, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.
Mavuika nodded, holding out a hand and summoning a flickering flame. A Pyro Vision heals by burning away corruption and giving warmth to the body. It is not gentle like Hydro, soothing like Anemo, or nurturing like Dendro. It will heal the hurt, but fire forges. There will be pain, perhaps more than the injured can bear. I am afraid you will simply have to learn how to wield the flame with time. Say a prayer to your Mother Church as you heal, as I pray to the Lord of the Night when I do the same. It helps.
The Archon’s words disturbed Diego slightly, and he saw Father Arpacio react the same way. Pray to Mother Church? That wasn’t quite right. And who was this Lord of the Night?
Carlo coughed. “Perhaps we can worry about theological phrasing later? The Archons come from Teyvat, which is not our world. That’s in the standard Protectorate briefing.”
The irritation that flashed through Diego was all too familiar, and he had to grit his teeth to keep his temper in check. Aways a way with words, his brother.
“Yes. First, the Abyss,” Diego said through gritted teeth. “Then, conversations about phrasing, Carlo.”
Carlo’s eye roll was completely unnecessary and almost calculated to turn this into a shouting match. Diego stomped back towards his bike and began shouting for the column to form up and get ready to ride.
“Keep your eyes open! The Lady doesn’t like the way it looks, and she doesn’t mean your ugly mugs!”
There were catcalls and jeers, but old Pedro nodded soberly and began talking quietly to several younger men and women nearby. Some of them ignored the older man, but a few had the good sense to listen. If they’d been on the farm, Diego would have marked them as people with potential, and the ones who didn’t listen as idiots who wouldn’t last the season.
Now, he was more concerned that their blood would stain the road. This was no longer about figuring out who would whine and shirk during a long shift. This was about determining who would survive and who would be eaten by demons.
Putting his helmet back on, Diego pointed forward. “Move out!”
True to her word, Mavuika rode straight off the road, her strange bike easily climbing the barricade before weaving between the trees.
“Where is the Holy Archon going?” someone shouted.
“I told you, she didn’t like your face!” Diego shouted back, but his heart was pounding now.
They passed the wrecked buses, and he thought he could see movement behind the broken windows. Then they were beneath the overpass, and—
“YAAAAA!”
A dozen of the little masked demons popped up from behind bushes and rocks upslope and launched a wave of crude arrows.
“GANG-GANG-WOO!”
Four of the damned masked mages appeared in flashes of elemental energy, and Diego swore. Two Hydro and two Anemo. The absolute worst combination for Pyro Visions, if he knew anything about elemental reactions. Which wasn’t much, but water putting out fire was easy enough to grasp.
The worst, however, were the buses.
They did not have a dozen little attackers hiding behind them.
“GRAWWWWRRRR!”
Two enormous Lawachurls hurled the wrecked buses aside and rose to their full height, one crackling with Electro, the other blazing with the amber light of Geo. They flexed their massive shoulders and raised their feet to stomp down upon the convoy.
Bedlam erupted. Riders slammed on their brakes or tried to turn around, crashing into those behind them while others accelerated toward the fight. Two cars struck the guardrails. Four motorcycles went down in a tangle of metal and bodies, and a man who had dismounted to charge was sideswiped before he made it three steps.
“FORM UP! AND FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T CHARGE ONE AT A TIME!” Diego roared.
The young woman who had cut off her painted nails sprinted past him and charged a Lawachurl alone. It backhanded her into a support pillar.
She did not get up.
“Take cover! Get off the damn bikes! Use them as shields!” Pedro shouted as arrows struck the road around him.
A handful obeyed. Three others scrambled up the slope and fell almost immediately.
The road behind them clogged with overturned motorcycles, shouting fighters, and people struggling to retreat against the column still pressing forward. Diego managed to rally two other Vision Holders against the Electro Lawachurl, while Pedro formed a squad behind improvised scrap-metal shields and drove them up the slope toward the archers.
Then the Geo Lawachurl charged.
It barreled through bikes and riders, crushing anything that failed to clear its path. Above them, the mages rained elemental attacks onto the road and restored the Lawachurls almost as quickly as Diego’s people wounded them.
They were losing.
Then the sun roared out of the valley, sword in hand.
Mavuika struck the overpass in a burst of Pyro. The four mages vanished in the explosion, and she drove into the Geo Lawachurl before the flames had cleared. Her greatsword punched through its chest in a spray of molten stone. The creature staggered once, then collapsed across the road.
The Electro Lawachurl turned toward her.
Diego surged to his feet, drove his saber into its side, and flooded the blade with Pyro. Electro met flame.
The Overload blast tore the giant from its feet.
Up on the slope, Pedro and his makeshift shield wall reached the remaining archers. Seconds later, the last masked creature fell. Two of Pedro’s warriors remained on the ground, screaming Then there was nothing left to fight. Diego did not think even two minutes had passed.
“What took you so long?” he shouted at Mavuika. Bodies lay scattered across the road. Some groaned or cried out, but too many were motionless.
There were more of them than I anticipated, Mavuika said grimly as she landed in a blast of heat. She pointed down the slope. There was a full portal in the ravine. I underestimated the Abyss. It is not behaving as it did in Natlan.
Her gaze moved across the fallen.
I am sorry, Captain Diego. I grew overconfident after routing the Abyssal Lord yesterday. I should have understood that the scale of this invasion was greater even than the Night Wars.
Diego had expected an explanation. Perhaps even a reminder that he had agreed to the test. He had not expected an apology.
Mavuika stood amid the wreckage with grief naked on her face, staring at every body as though each belonged to someone she knew.
Suddenly, she didn’t seem so much like an invincible messiah.
“Well. I guess we had that test you wanted,” Diego said, still having to fight down his temper.
Mavuika nodded, her expression hard. Yes. Bloodier than I intended, but still better than a slaughter. We have a lot of work to do. We will need an army, but we do not have one yet.
Mavuika nodded toward Pedro. That is your man, yes? Pedro Lomelí, I believe?
“I- yes. He worked for my father and my grandfather before me. His family has been with mine since…well. A very long time,” Diego said, shaking his head slightly to clear it.
Good. He will be your first sergeant. Have him train and lead the others your brother identifies, and report directly to you, Mavuika said. Then she lifted back into the air.
I will see if there are other portals in the area. I do not like it when the Abyss surprises me. People die when it does.
They did not travel much farther that day. By nightfall, they had only reached the outskirts of Toluca, less than sixty kilometers from where they had begun.
They fought three more times along the way.
None of the battles became a slaughter, but Mavuika continued to winnow the column. Some abandoned the crusade after the first ambush, having discovered that following the Holy Archon meant more than sharing in her glory. Father Arpacio identified those suited to serve as medics, while the wounded were sent to the rear. In each new engagement, Mavuika placed untested recruits beside those who had already proven they would stand, watching to see who fought, who froze, and who could be trusted with the lives of others.
By nightfall, the column was beginning to resemble an army.
And twenty-three people were dead.
By the standards of the war before Mavuika’s arrival, the number was almost miraculous. Diego had lost more than twice that many in a single hour at Estadio Azteca, and there, he had been losing.
None of that would matter to the families that Diego would have to find.
At the end of the day, Father Arpacio celebrated a funeral Mass for the dead.
Mavuika knelt at the front, tears bright in her eyes. As Father Arpacio read the names of the fallen, her lips moved with his, repeating each one and committing it to memory.
Diego wondered how many names she already carried from Natlan.
He found that he did not want to know.
When the Mass ended, Mavuika rose. Her hair still burned as she planted her greatsword point-first before her and rested both hands upon the pommel.
Now, you know what it is to follow War.
The assembled listeners shifted uncomfortably under Mavuika’s fiery gaze, but Diego did not flinch from it.
Many of you believe I have been sent as a divine savior from Heaven to rescue you in your hour of need. Some call me an angel, a saint, or even a virgin. I am none of these things.
The smallest smile quirked her lips. I object most strongly to the last, however.
Nervous chuckles broke out, and Father Arpacio looked more than a little scandalized. Mavuika bowed her head in his direction. My apologies, Father. I am still learning your ways.
Then she turned back to the crowd.
But know this: I am not a god. I am not an angel. I am not even a saint. I am the Lord of War, raised up by the Sacred Flame to defend my people from the Abyss and to uphold the Heavenly Principles.
And I am a mortal woman. Like you, I bleed. And one day, I shall die.
Stunned silence. Mavuika’s flames died, and she gave a wry smile, then said, “Auh oc no monequi nicnotlatlauhtiz in acah, ma quicuepa notlahtol inic amotlahtol, ca ayamo nicmati in amotlahtol. Tēopixcatzintli?”
Father Arpacio stepped up to Mavuika’s side, and the rest of the speech was given in his slightly wispy voice.
“The Pyro Archon is not like the other Archons. The others inherited Divine Thrones and were given Gnoses by Heaven. They are not beings like we mortals. Angel, in your tongue, perhaps comes the closest, though it means something very different on Teyvat. They may die, but they do not age and pass as humanity does. Some have ruled since the Archon War two thousand years ago, and at least three are older even than that.”
Diego nodded slowly. The Raiden Shogun claimed to be nearly six thousand years old. Venti was more evasive, but rumor placed his birth before Christ walked the Earth. Even Nahida, who looked like a child, had lived for five centuries. Diego had assumed Mavuika was similarly ancient.
“The Archons of Natlan do not operate according to those rules. The first was a man named Xbalanque, who fought to free his people from the rule of the Dragons. Through that victory, he became the first Pyro Archon.”
Mavuika smiled, her gaze growing distant. Her next words came in a lilting, almost ceremonial rhythm, as though she were reciting a history learned in childhood. Father Arpacio’s translation gradually took on the same cadence.
“But Xbalanque did not establish a dynasty of immortal rulers. He forged different rules for Natlan, binding the office of the Pyro Archon to the land, the people, and the Sacred Flame. Since his time, the Pyro Archons have been mortal men and women.”
“No Pyro Archon reigns forever. All those who are called by the Sacred Flame will give their lives for Natlan. Most fall in battle, for the Night Wars claim many, many lives. Others give everything they have to preserve the Sacred Flame and protect the lives, names, and heritage of their people.”
Diego held his breath, as though even an exhalation might break the spell. Around him, the entire assembly hung on Mavuika’s words.
Mavuika took a deep breath, and her next words came out less like an old lesson and more like a painful confession.
“My story is unique among the Pyro Archons. I am the only one to have served the Sacred Flame twice. The first time, in the age of my birth, I was chosen to lead my people just before…well. It would become known as the Cataclysm. At the time, we called it the Eclipse Invasion. It began when the armies of Khaenri’ah came against the nations of Teyvat, and Natlan burned not from the Abyss, but beneath the weapons of mortal men.”
The Archon looked haunted now, though she kept her gaze steadily on her audience.
“That war was brief. Only a few weeks. Then everything changed. The armies that had invaded us faltered, for Khaenri’ah had called upon powers it could not master. The Abyss answered.
“I did not behold the Fall of Khaenri’ah with my own eyes. I had a nation to defend. But I saw what followed. I watched one war become another. Men who had come to conquer us died beside us against things that should never have existed.
“Khaenri’ah and its soldiers had never been the true enemy.
“My enemy had always been the Abyss.”
For the first time, fear entered Mavuika’s voice. She slowed, choosing each word with care.
“It was the only time I spoke directly with a representative of Heaven. With-”
She stopped.
“No. I will not risk explaining further. Only know that the exchange was brief and brutal. Khaenri’ah had meddled with blasphemous powers in its attempt to usurp the heavens. Turning back what it unleashed cost my people dearly, and cost the very nation who had once invaded us just as much.
“In the end, it cost me my life.”Silence settled over the assembly. Diego held his breath. Even Father Arpacio faltered over the translation, staring at Mavuika as though he could scarcely believe the words passing through his own lips.
At last, Mavuika continued.
“To save my people, a plan was made and a bargain struck with Death. I gave myself to the Sacred Flame, and for five hundred years I remained within it, running an endless path as I fought to preserve my soul and mind.
“When the appointed hour came, I was reforged and called forth in Natlan’s greatest need. With the heroes of that age beside me, I cast down the Lord of Eroded Primal Flame. I tried to lead wisely. I made mistakes. I lost friends. But in the end, Natlan was freed from the Abyss, and for the first time in five hundred years, my people knew peace.
“The Lord of War was needed no longer.”
Mavuika fell silent. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.
“The bargain still had to be honored. I returned myself to the Sacred Flame so that it might sustain the generation that followed mine.”
She looked upward, reverence in her expression. “I expected that to be the end. Instead, I awoke here.”
For a moment, she remained gazing at the sky. Then she shook her head, grinned, and gave a helpless shrug.
“I do not know who sent me to this land. I heard a voice say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. But your race is not yet finished.’ I did not understand then, and I still do not know who spoke those words.”
Diego’s heart soared.
Well done, good and faithful servant. He knew those words: they were from the Parable of the Talents. The race is not yet finished. That invoked Saint Paul’s second letter to Saint Timothy.
Mavuika had been sent here by Christ the Lord to save His people. Diego felt the truth of it with absolute certainty. He had believed it from the moment she descended from the heavens; now, at last, the words gave that belief shape.
From the stir in the crowd and the look on Father Arpacio’s face, Diego knew many of them had come to the same conclusion.
“Hear me now!” Mavuika raised her blade.
“I am no divinity and no flawless savior. I am a commander who has fought the Abyss across two ages, and I know it can be defeated!
“Until this world knows peace, I will once more bear the mantle of the Lord of War. I will not rest until the Abyss and all its demons are driven from this land!”
Flames surged along the blade. Mavuika grinned.
“Now you know what it is to follow War! Ride with me, and together we will kindle a flame of hope that all the world can see!”
Diego surged to his feet with the rest of the crowd, shouting and applauding. Someone began the chant, perhaps Diego himself.
“¡Mavuika y México! ¡Mavuika y México!”
The chanting continued for several minutes before Mavuika raised a hand. Silence spread quickly through the crowd. It was nearly midnight, yet the second sun still burned overhead.
“Some of you will ride with me to Guadalajara tomorrow. The rest will remain here. I appoint Captain Carlo Rodriguez to command the defense of this region and ensure that your homes and families are protected. The Abyss may return at any moment. We must be ready.”
Diego glanced at his brother. Carlo showed no surprise, merely nodding as though the matter had already been settled.
The decision made sense. Carlo had Protectorate training, and someone needed to turn the volunteers who were not yet ready for the front into a proper reserve force. What surprised Diego was that Carlo accepted it. Once, his little brother would have demanded a place at the front—especially if Diego were going there without him.
Perhaps the Light Keepers had helped him grow up. Or perhaps Diego should give his brother more credit.
“Additionally, wars are not won by warriors alone. They are won by smiths forging weapons, runners carrying reports, cooks preparing meals, and healers tending the wounded. Some of you will be assigned to those duties. That is no insult to your honor. For every warrior who carries a spear, eight others must stand behind them.
“If you would make a better clerk than fighter, take heart. I am in desperate need of clerks. I still do not know how I will feed, arm, or clothe all of you—much less how any of you will be paid.”
Laughter rippled through the assembly, and Diego found himself grinning. At least that was one problem he understood intimately.
“Now go and rest. The people here have offered us beds, food, and supplies. I must meet with my captains and make plans. May the Sacred Flame light your path.”
The assembly began to disperse. Diego followed Mavuika with Carlo, Father Arpacio, and two others she had selected.
One was Elena Villaseñor, a woman with more gray than black in her hair. She had run a major shipping company and owned an entire fleet of delivery trucks. Like so many others, she had joined the force in a fit of passion. Unlike most, she had spent the journey worrying about their lack of food and water, and complaining that no one else had solved the problem.
Mavuika’s response had been simple. “Well then, you do it. What do you need?”
They were still figuring that out, but Elena had already scrounged up several large trucks to accompany the advancing column and carry supplies, along with two food trucks and a handful of short-order cooks to prepare meals.
“-and I’m still worried about the water situation. The Abyss has damaged dozens of wells and pipes! We can’t just carry enough bottled water for everyone!” Elena complained.
“Fire trucks,” Diego said, and Elena turned to him, frowning.
He shrugged. “They can carry thousands of liters of water. Find the right models, the ones built for wildfires or rough country, and they can go places tanker trucks can’t. They can draw from hydrants, carry men and equipment, and defend themselves better if they’re attacked. In a pinch, we can even use the water to enable Vaporize reactions.”
“Maybe, but is the water potable?” Elena demanded.
“Oh, just find a Hydro Vision holder and get them to take care of that,” Carlo said impatiently.
Elena opened her mouth, then slowly nodded. “That would work.”
At the same time, the other new captain was having a passionate discussion with Mavuika through Father Arpacio.
“No, no, modern radio can be made secure. The Abyss might be able to intercept our transmissions, but if we use the new elemental broadcast equipment and coded messages, the risk is minimal.”
Before the iIncursion, Tomás Salcedo had been an emergency dispatcher for Mexico City, where he coordinated police and EMS and even worked with Los Valientes. He was a tall, thin man with a bushy mustache and a thick head of black hair. He wore a button-up shirt with an honest-to-God pocket protector containing several pens and a notepad, and had two radios hooked to his belt.
Tomás had approached Mavuika after the first battle and tried to give her a radio, which she had simply not understood. In frustration, he had turned to Diego and Father Arpacio.
“Will you please explain to her that if she doesn’t start telling the people at the back what’s happening, we’re going to have a major traffic disaster? There have already been multiple accidents, and it’s mostly because no one can hear what’s happening up here more than a hundred meters back!”
And just like that, Mavuika had drafted another victim, and Tomás had spent the rest of the day trying to find enough radios to give to Pedro’s new NCO corps.
Mavuika appeared to still have a hard time believing that you could receive messages instantly from kilometers away, but she at least seemed to understand the basic principle of telecommunications and the threat Abyssal corruption posed.
Diego wondered what she would think of the internet. That, he decided, was a problem for another time.
“My head-” Mavuika blew out her cheeks and made a poof sound. “-big much! Radios, yes. But! Priest, test! Abyss get in radio? Big bad! No good! Now, sleep. Tomorrow, fix.”
“But, we need weapons still!” Diego said, forgetting the first lesson of Mavuika leadership: Do not bring up a problem unless you wanted to be the one to solve it.
“Ah, yes. Weapon. You! Tomorrow, fix,” Mavuika said, pointing at Diego. She put her hands next to her head and mimed sleeping. “Now? You sleep! Think bad now. Tomorrow, think much good.”
“You walked right into that one,” Carlo told Diego as they stumbled toward a pair of cots in a dark back room of the church where they were staying.
“Yes, well, someone has to find us weapons,” Diego said with a yawn. He flopped down on the cot, then groaned and sat back up to pull off his boots and shrug out of his jacket. “That speech, though…incredible. She really has been sent by God.”
“Of course that’s what you got out of it,” Carlo said, his voice bitter.
Diego paused. He knew Carlo had fallen away from the Church, but that did not seem to be the real reason his brother was upset. He set his boots down carefully and turned to face him.
Carlo had his saber out and was carefully cleaning and oiling the blade.
“Is this about your Lieutenant Mina?” Diego asked, reaching for his own sword. If the professional soldier was caring for his weapon before bed, it probably was not a bad idea.
“She’s a captain now,” Carlo said without looking up. “And yes. At least partly. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”
“Then what? Surely you understood the significance of her quoting the Parable of the Talents and Saint Paul?”
“Oh, I understood the references. But you missed one, Diego,” Carlo said, his tone still acidic.
Diego racked his brain, but he was too tired and soon gave up. “Fine. You’re smarter than I am. What did I miss?”
“Khaenri’ah remind you of anywhere?” Carlo asked.
The bitterness drained from his voice, replaced by pain.
“Sodom and Gomorrah?” Diego ventured.
Carlo froze. Then, slowly, he set down his sword. His hands began to shake, and he buried his face in them.
“Carlo, I’m sorry. I did not think. What is it?” Diego asked, setting his own sword aside and putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“It’s…it’s the Hegemony,” Carlo whispered, tears in his eyes. “Oh God, Diego. I’ve heard rumors. The other Archons…they’ve compared America to this Khaenri’ah before. But now? Now I understand…”
Diego searched for words… And, for once, found he had none.
He squeezed his brother’s shoulder and let Carlo weep.
Now was not the time for an I told you so.
But in the morning…he would have to bring this up to Mavuika.
After he found some damn weapons.