Page 78 of War

They’ll try it again. If not on me, then on another woman. They probably already have before. They are an open threat, and they will continue to be as long as they live.

But isn’t that what War believes about all of us? That we’re all evil and unchanging? It’s just not true. Even though we are all capable of wickedness, it doesn’t mean we’re doomed to it. We’re also capable of goodness.

I stare down at the weapon in my hand, and take a deep breath.

“I won’t kill them,” I say.

Not now, and not like this.

After a long and heavy pause, the horseman says, “Ovun obe tuparemi atreme?evi teri, obevi pu?e?evi teri epevitri tirime?i utsahe te?a eteri, obe?i vuttive i?uvenne næppe?”

They invaded your tent, they sought to rape you and defile you, and you will not mete out justice?

“This isrevenge,” I say.

He narrows his eyes. “Ke kahate, pe?ivæniki sehi vuttive eke sa sekanevi.”

Right now, revenge and justice are one and the same.

“I won’t kill them,” I repeat.

I know I must seem like a hypocrite. I’ve killed before, and these are no innocent men. If we were out on the battlefield, I would easily fight them to the death. If they cornered me on a dark night in Jerusalem, I would’ve shot them dead then too. But seeing these men lined up, their wrists bound—this would be an execution.

I am no executioner.

War stares at me for a long time. Eventually he makes a sound low in his throat and gives a shake of his head, like I’m the damnedest thing.

“Abi abe vuttive e?u naterenne nek, keki evi abi saukuven genneki,aššatu.”

If you will not take your justice, then I will take it for you, wife.

The horseman prowls towards the men. Seeing him move I remember that this is who War is. And unlike humans, I’m not entirely sure the horseman can change. He certainly doesn’t want to.

My attackers shrink back from him, but there’s nowhere for them to go. They’re hemmed in by the crowd and the phobos riders.

As War approaches the three men, he withdraws a sword from its sheath at his hip. It’s not the massive sword he wears on his back. This one looks lighter and narrower.

“Ava kege epirisipu selevi menni.”

You get my unclean blade, War says, his voice building on itself.

“Giviseve pi abi egeureveves?i pæt qu eteri, etækin abeje kere?i pe egeurevenisvi senu æti.”

In life you were dishonorable, and so your deaths too will be dishonorable.

The guttural sounds of his words make him all the more terrifying.

“Please,” one of the men begins to beg. “We didn’t mean it.”

The one on the left is noticeably trembling.

But it’s the man I recognize who lifts his chin defiantly, his eyes on me. He doesn’t look repentant, he looks angry. “Whatever that bitch told you, it’s a lie. She wanted it.”

War closes in on the man, and he grabs his jaw. “Shewantedit?” This time when he speaks, he doesn’t bother speaking in tongues. We all hear the words perfectly enunciated.

The man glares daggers at the horseman, but he doesn’t respond.

After a moment, War lets the man go, and begins to rotate away.

---