War (Mirage Bk. 2 snippet)
There was a cracking boom, and the soil shook under her feet. Belongings tumbled to the ground, smashing, and the cube’s blue glow flickered out as it struck the floor, throwing the room into darkness. Screams and crashings resounded outside the tent. Myra put her pencil down and, journal tucked under her arm, went to the entrance of the tent to look outside. She felt her heart turn to ice and drop from her chest.
In the streets of the camp, chaos reigned as debris rained down among the wailing throngs of people fleeing by. Their terrified faces were half-illuminated, shadows thrown into sharp relief against a brilliant yellow-orange glow. The air was thick with foul, black smoke, reflecting the orange light and reeking of burning flesh.
Rishda appeared from the crowd, her clothing torn, sleeves hanging from her wrists. Her face was scratched and sooty, the whites of her eyes and grimacing teeth luminous against the filth and smoke. Detachedly, surreally, Myra saw for the first time how old her sister had become, saw in detail the lines etched into her face, the hardness of her eyes.
“What’s happening?” But she knew, of course. Bombs. Attack. Over her sister’s shoulder, she could see the makeshift hospital burning, flames towering over them, the debris littering the ground. And among the debris, there were-
“We need to go.”
Rishda was terse, icy, gripping Myra’s shoulder and starting to turn her away from the scene, but Myra saw the bodies scattered on the ground, some only partially together, some nearly unrecognizable. But one made her go numb. A young woman lay face down, her shoulder-length blond hair matted with blood.
“Emily!” Myra’s voice tore at her throat, lost among the others crying out for their loved ones. She clutched at Rishda, too stunned to be devastated, feeling her own knees buckle as the other woman’s stayed straight and stiff. Her sister’s face was unmoved and at the same time brutal, reminiscent of the murderous child she had once been. She hauled Myra to her feet. “It isn’t her. Come on.”
The woman’s body disappeared from sight as Myra was hauled into the crazed crowd. It stretched on endlessly; Myra could see no end to the maze of twisting bodies, bobbing heads. Between screaming faces she saw some Sainmonet herding the crowd forward, making sure no one ran into side allies and were lost. Some of them carried injured Terrans on their backs. Rishda pulled her past swiftly, too swiftly to see whether Caval or Keyed was among them, and Myra’s stomach flipped at the thought that they might be lost.
Minou flashed by, closely followed by the other c’nujti shoving their way back through the crowd to the burning buildings, and too late, Myra remembered that Ianji had been in the hospital. She felt tears slide down her cheeks as she realized that this was only the beginning. She fell against Rishda, who had her back to Myra as she forced her way to the front of the crowd. For the first time, Myra wondered where all these people where going to go.
“Where are we going?” She shouted in Rishda’s ear. Rishda turned her head halfway to look at her just as the fire behind the flared. Myra recoiled for her sister’s expression was terrifying, her teeth bared over a taut jaw, eyes white and wild and sharp in her dark, bloody face. Myra saw again for an instant the vicious animal of Rishda’s youth resurfaced, before the older woman’s eyes narrowed, her lips closing and thinning into a grim line.
“To war,” she said.
