I adjusted the strap of my rifle as it adhered to my shirt. A merciless sun beat down on us as we made our escape from Seisa, the sounds of fighting and bombardment slowly fading in the distance. There was no guarantee of safety, however. Soon, fire and vehicles would follow our path. 

“What do we do?” Meliton’s brown eyes seemed hollow. After believing so strongly in victory, a defeat like this hit him like a ton of bricks. 

I cleared my throat and looked around at the others. “We split up and spread the fight, like embers on the wind. We will be less likely to be seen and as long as we continue going east and south, we will find many friends.”

Those words, an echo of our fallen leader’s, seemed to reach Meliton. He pulled me into a fierce hug. “Be careful, Karsa.” 

One by one we embraced and then spread, collecting the shattered fragments of our communities to hurry away with. Not everyone would make it out, that much was certain, but we could try. Forcing them to chase down dozens of groups that could hide was far more helpful for us than one large group. I sighed and tried to wipe some of the plastered dirt from my face to no effect. “Let’s go! Quickly!”

We moved as swiftly through the heat of the day as we could, winding our way through orchards and vineyards along the irrigated paths. We cleaned ourselves of the dust by plunging into the water, emerging with a look as desperate and frightened as a half drowned rat’s. 

Thaïs helped me back up out of the water when it was my turn, passing me my rifle again. I think she was the only one of our desperate souls who could retain a bit of grace despite the circumstances. 

It was almost twelve hours on foot to reach relative safety in Raklidí through infernal heat, stopping often to hide in the green growth from the soldiers combing the roads for us. We moved overland as much as possible, jumping ditches and vaulting fences. No one raised a fuss: they saw the rifles and did not ask us what our intentions were. Why would they, when ‘terrorist’ was already on the lips of the press? I certainly wasn’t going to correct their assumption: we had no time. 

As the sun finally started to set, our battered crew of twenty four stopped to catch a breath or two, hiding under an old overpass on one of the oldest roads in Astera. It was used more by goats and sheep than people, barren and forgotten enough that it was only an afterthought of a line on maps, if included at all. My lungs burned from the hellish combination of fire and exertion. My shoes, worn and comfortable, were not enough to protect my feet from stone bruises and the wear of constant motion. It was a miracle no one dropped over, and for the best, as we would have had to leave anyone who fell. 

I tried vainly to stretch my calves enough that they would stop their protest. Even running track was no preparation for this. “We don’t know what our reception will be like.”

Thaïs shrugged a little, perched on a ledge of stone under the pass. She massaged her own legs as we talked, working her thumbs in hard circles to ease the overworked muscles. “I don’t know if it matters, Karsa. We’re out of water. We have to stop.” 

I sighed. “I know.”

She offered me a small smile, though I suspected that the bombing haunted her thoughts more than mine. “They cared enough to send us medical supplies. Besides, I know a girl or two.” 

Relief flowered through my tired soul like a brilliant rose. So far, Thaïs’s connections had been life-saving and apparently that trend would continue. “Do you know everyone in Astera, Thaïs?”

The light of a laugh struck her eyes, but vanished into the hurt before the sound could come out. “I’m working on it.” 

I heard the hollow ring to those words, the way they were said automatically with a light lilt that didn’t match the hurt buried underneath. We were all grieving in our own way as we walked, but Thaïs was so busy keeping up everyone else’s spirits that I doubted she had given her own any thought. I considered my course of action carefully. There was a good chance she would shrug off anything I said without really hearing it. “Thaïs?” 

“Mm?” 

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Thaïs looked up abruptly, surprise flashing across her features. “You’re the revolutionary firebrand, Karsa, not me. You’d be fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. It almost worked in distracting me, but I still caught the way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly in relief. 

“I mean it. We’re in this together.” 

A faint, sorrowful smile flashed across her face. “You remind me so much of Sostrate it hurts.” 

It was my turn to feel the ache of grief. Sostrate hadn’t been in my life for very long in the grand scheme of things. After even those few months, though, through blood and tears, her impression burned indelibly on my soul. I still carry the memories of the barricades, the smell of her freshly baked bread, the constancy she exuded, and the loved-almost-to-pieces copy of Variations on a Rose she pressed into my hands. I thought of that little book of poems then, crammed into my back pocket. 

I’ll bring it back tomorrow, I’d said when she gave it, as if we existed in a world that had tomorrows. The words made something well in my throat, a painful knot of a lump. 

Thaïs put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed slightly. “Maybe you do need me,” she said quietly. I knew she’d recognized my expression for what it was.

I blinked hard. We didn’t have time to grieve yet. Not until we were to a place where we didn’t immediately risk death or discovery, if such a place and time existed. “We should get everyone moving. Not much further to go today.” 

She nodded and slipped back into the guarded face she’d worn since we left Seisa. Thaïs was used to being an element of tough love. “Let’s hope those pamphlets of yours did more than the State press.”

I put a hand over my back pocket. The slim volume of poetry was still there, something that reassured me more than all the power in the world ever could have. I followed Thaïs back the short distance to everyone else. “Only a little further,” I said with all the warmth and encouragement I could muster. “We can rest once we’ve made it to the city.” 

It had been a long, long day of running, but everyone knew that we couldn’t afford to be without water long in this heat. Haunted eyes focused on me as our group nodded. I knew half of them weren’t even seeing the road in front of them: the horror of Seisa’s destruction was too fresh. I took the lead and Thaïs took the rear, coaxing people along while she caught anyone who started to fall behind. 

Raklidí was nowhere near the size of Seisa, a sleepy little town south along the coast. There was no sign of soldiers on this side of town, but that didn’t mean anything. It took me almost a full five minutes as we walked to realize that in every window of every building, home or storefront alike, little candles burned as if to ward away evil spirits that might come at dusk. More than that, a small group of people moved up the street to meet us, local Lathraí men. 

“Identify yourselves!” one called, unslinging his own weapon. 

I held up both hands as a signal to both groups that I wanted no bloodshed. “We are freedom fighters driven out of Seisa by the bombardment.”

The man slung his rifle and approached rapidly, a broad grin stretching across his bearded face. “Blessings to you under the eyes of the Merciful.” It was a traditional Lathraí greeting, and best of all, it was said in our outlawed language. He held out both hands to me. “You look tired and thirsty, my brothers and sisters. Let’s get you inside. My name is Brygos.” 

I clasped both of his hands. “It’s our pleasure to meet you and your friends, Brygos.”

Thaïs seemed to share my relief, a good sign. She was a much better judge of character. “Has the military come through yet?”

Brygos shook his head. “If they come, we’ll handle it. We’ve got plenty of places to hide you lot. Let’s get you some meals and rest.”

As we followed him down the narrow streets, his friends shared canteens and freshly baked bread. “What are the candles for?” Thaïs asked, gesturing to the windows.

“For Seisa.” Brygos ground his teeth for a moment. “I cannot believe them. Even their own supporters were horrified, if you can believe the news. It’s pushed things here to a vote, whether we join the rebellion wholeheartedly or support from a distance.”

Thaïs smiled faintly. “Your supplies were worth more than gold to us. Any help is welcome, even if you would rather not fight.”

“I don’t think there is an option for peaceful resistance anymore.” I couldn’t help the grimness of my tone.

“Karsa—”

Brygos raised his eyebrows and turned to face me, pulling a folded newspaper out of his pocket. It was unmistakably ours: Solidarity. “Are you the Karsa who writes in this?”

“I—”

“She is,” Thaïs said with a sudden, full smile. “A regular little fire-starter. I take it you’re a fan?”

Brygos’s intensity mirrored the same that I felt when I’d written the pieces. “No one writes about the revolution so…deeply, like every syllable is wrenched out of the gut. They are words to be believed in. When we conduct our vote, it would be an honor to have you speak.”

I shook my head. “Speeches are not my strong suit.”

Thaïs prodded me gently in the ribs. “Just speak from that big, broken heart of yours, Karsa. You have a passion that makes people listen. Besides, it might be good to talk to everyone about what happened.”

I understood. Thaïs was asking for me to address our people as well, to remind them that the revolution lived on even with Seisa in ruins. “I’ll try,” I promised.

Brygos led us to a plain, two story farmhouse with several barns and outbuildings for everyone to sleep in. They made us a rich stew and made sure everyone had water to drink. Clean clothes were crowdsourced, so the fits were interesting, but it was wonderful to take a cold shower and put on something not caked in grime.

“Do you want me to wash these or burn them?” Brygos said with a chuckle as he picked up my clothes.

“They might just dissolve in the wash,” I admitted, icing my battered feet. “Probably better to just be rid of them.”

Thaïs was next into the shower, leaving me alone with Brygos and some of the others. I took the time to unwrap the battered copy of Variations on a Rose. It was dustier than usual, so I shook it out carefully over the kitchen trash. “Do you have some paper and a pen, Brygos?” 

“For you, anything.” He pulled out a few sheets and handed me a cheap plastic ballpoint.

It was exactly the kind of pen I would have used at home. As soon as he left me be to sit and collect my thoughts, I looked over at the book again. My talk for my comrades wouldn't be a poem, but I wanted to write one desperately for the first time since everything had started. I just didn’t know what to write about.

Thaïs returned after about ten minutes, far more stunning than any woman in our position had any right to look. She sat down at the table next to me. “Karsa?”

I looked up, not sure what that tone meant. It was determined, deadly serious. “What?”

“I want you to teach me how to use that rifle of yours and maybe a couple of others,” she said quietly.

I thought back to the ruins of the Silver Lining brothel, her life’s work lying in ruins, the people within atomized by the explosion. I thought of her expression on seeing it, utterly gutted. “Alright,” I said quietly. “It’s something everyone should know.”

Thaïs relaxed, like she had been expecting more resistance. “I don’t want you to think this is just a vengeance quest, a blood feud. I want to build a world where what happened to us will never happen again. You’re right: this is the only way it will ever change.”

I leaned over, letting my shoulder rest against hers. “Someday, things will be better.”

She laughed. “The little lies we tell ourselves so that we can bear to face another day.” Thaïs shook her head. “I want it, but I can’t imagine it happening. They have so much power.”

“Faith takes time.” I sat more normally and drummed the pen on the edge of the table. “It takes work to not be empty.”

Thaïs sighed. “I hope you write a good speech, Karsa. I need it. Listening to your little rants is like breathing in fresh air.”

“I’ll do my best.”