Глава 13

It's fine. Eat.

He practically pours the food down his throat.

Where's your sergeant?

I don't know. We haven't seen him all morning. I was worried he would barge into your camp again.

Say, did you hear any sounds in the night? Like artillery fire?

No reports of anything like that.

He... never mind. Everyone's gone mad. Us, them, there's no sane man left on the front.

Sound like things are rough out there.

Rough, eh...? You have no idea what the Sarkaz are using against us.

They have no battleships, no armored vehicles. We thought the devils were just barbarians, fighting our armies with swords and bows.

How wrong we were. Could you imagine an entire squad of Sarkaz casters, casting their Arts at the same time?

It was more terrifying than any artillery or ballista fire. Get hit by a shell, and you might lose an arm or leg, the fragments digging themselves into your flesh, causing terrible pain.

But the Sarkaz, they turned the battlefield to the Hell of Lateran tales.

I saw armored vehicles pierced by lightning bolts of blood, my mates melted into puddles of gore...

I never imagined it would turn out like this when the Duke of Fife's men dragged me out of the cystybeast pens—

Forget it. I'd rather not think about anything. Thanks for the porridge. I'll bring the pot back later.

You can keep it. We have plenty of them, and it might be of use to you.

Thank you so much. I'll never forget it. Are you leaving? Where are you going?

This is pretty much a battlefield now, and it's Victorian lands all around... for the Infected...

Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Forget I said anything.

The soldier hurries to leave, grabbing the side of the pot with his one good hand and supporting the bottom with the limp arm, grimacing at the heat.

I reach into my pocket and dig out what I just got from the doctor.

Hey, wait!

I go up to him and put the vial of medicine in his pocket.

What's this?

It'll relieve some of the worst symptoms. You can share it with the others.

I'll visit Blackstream and collect what you owe me.

I—sir...

Go.

...You'll love our village.

Thanks.

You really are like the Rhodes Islanders.

I heard you were the one who found the doctors who knew how to make the medicine.

To be honest, what we're making hardly even qualifies as medicine compared to the suppressants that I knew.

Rhodes Island offers low-cost treatment plans, but at the end of the day, they're a company. They need research funding, and they have corporate due diligence to deal with.

Who knows how many eyes are on them in Kazimierz and Columbia?

That's why you persuaded Nine to go north. The warriors say there's a factory there.

A tiny pharmaceutical factory.

So small it's barely even a workshop. It's not even on a nomadic plate, but that one little piece of land was once the salvation of many Infected.

That, is, until it grew big enough that it caught people's attention. Some of the ones driven out of there joined us, and that's how we heard the story.

It's deep in the forest, where nobody's watching. We need medicine, even if it's just a pale imitation of the real thing. But more importantly—

—It was once a starting point of Victoria's Reunion Movement.

We have to unite those scattered across Victoria. We have to tell them that help has come.

I've seen plenty of Infected self-help organizations. Kind souls helped us from time to time, but in the end, none of them lasted.

When I was at Rhodes Island, I often wondered if things would get better if everyone worked harder and made more medicine.

Maybe. But Chernobog changed my mind.

Why do they crack down on workshops like these? Why are kindness and hard work warped by hatred and prejudice?

When evil itself is fuzzy as the fog, why does everyone, even the Infected themselves, decide to wait for their own deaths in the middle of a lake?

I stare at Talulah, who hardly reacts to my words. Her eyes are calm, unusually so.

Her soul is too weary, having seen too much. What has become of the woman who was once our leader?

Or had she uttered the same words before, and seen what came of them?

*sigh*... You know what I mean.

Oripathy is an illness, but... we'll leave the illnesses to Rhodes Island, for now.

Our enemy isn't just Oripathy; it's oppression and prejudice, the truths they've tried to cover up with Oripathy.

Oripathy is just the culmination of all the decay across the lands.

Taking back a symbol may help the Infected of Victoria realize that and stand together with us.

...Stand together.

That's something only Reunion can do.

Have you told the others how you think?

Hm? Of course. I'm always talking to Nine about our—

No. You know the one I'm talking about.

Oh...

A little. I got a... gentle answer. That's why I'm here.

Whatever the case, we didn't choose the same path, so I... er...

It's not my place to ask for more.

Of course it isn't.

Rhodes Island is a paradise of idealists. Me? A man who could only see what stands right in front of me.

The gain and loss right in front of me...

I heard the veteran guerilla fighters talk about the old days of the Reunion in the tundra, the ideals that everyone held.

'A city of the Infected, our home.'

Some of them thought it was just within reach. It was almost realized at Chernobog, but fell short in the end.

But I know the city of our dreams is still far, far away.

And how could a single city be enough?

What could a single city do?

You're still limping. Maybe you should go sit in the back?

Just a little sprain.

You haven't been on a lot of expeditions lately.

My squad passed through the wilderness the other day with Infected comrades from Greewich.

The earth had been torn open, with ditches everywhere. Looked like one of the turnip farms back home, except much smaller.

I tripped.

*snort*

What was it? I didn't think there a place like that near Londinium.

Walt said that all those trenches, hundreds of them, each one big enough to fit our entire squad, were battleship tread marks.

No wonder you've looked worried.

It takes all my strength just to go from day to day.

Don't think too much about it.

A report from the scouts, Guard.

We heard sounds from the woods on the left side up ahead.

The Originium zone sensor went off when we got closed, so we couldn't be sure exactly what it was.

Send word to the rest of the team. We'll go around.

Roger.

Percival.

I'll come along with a few guys. Don't want you to trip again.

There's an unsettling smell in the air.

The instruments show a high level of Active Originium. Not a good sign.

Remember your protective measures. Keep your masks on.

Was that a man under the tree?

No, it's a Victorian uniform, ripped almost beyond recognition, but somehow familiar. A sergeant's badge lies on the ground next to it.

A tiny music box sits a short distance away, covered in Originium dust, but still barely playing.

...Infected confirmed dead. We should leave.