Father in the Forest, #1

by R. K. Gold

  When they reached the front of the line, Yael saw the soldiers had the open flower insignia of their army on their fatigues and another design—one that everyone in the country grew familiar with after the war. The sign of the dragonfly was given to all the soldiers who fought at the Twin Rivers. They were paraded around the country for years after the war.

  The man beside their cart looked down at his clipboard as a second rounded their carriage with a dog by his side.

  “Purpose of coming to Wydser,” the first man asked. He had a thin, pointed mustache, and his red hair was neatly buzzed. The second man was a half-foot taller and looked like he could eat the whole kitchen at the Port Room Tavern for a mid-day snack reached into the pile that Jaja had lain in earlier in the day.

  “Oy!” he called over and held up a cluster of goods bound together by a strap with the same dragonfly insignia they wore.

  “Colonel Armstrong personally placed an order two weeks ago and said to come to Wydser today for a drop off at the eastern barracks,” Marcel replied in a flat tone. His face remained still.

  “Verify that,” the red-haired man pointed to the smallest of the group who stood by the gate with his rifle out. He saluted and ran inside the walls where he pulled an earpiece off a hook and held a bowl-like device on a stick up to his mouth as he spoke.

  Moments later, the small man returned and gave a nod. The red-haired guard stepped aside and waved them inside the walls. At first, they passed three military vehicles with guards standing around them. The first had three wheels on each side wrapped in metal tracks and a round front engine with elaborate carvings zigzagging the metal face. It had an open bumper with a barrel poking out, and beneath the weapon was a bladed plow. The vehicle had two seats, one facing the front and the other the rear. The front seat was higher with a wheel that came chest high to a sitting passenger with two vents framing the driver, while the rear seat was shaped like a red bucket and could swivel side to side. The second was a hooded metal vehicle. Yael couldn’t see inside, but the front had four fangs that looked like they could pierce a wall and had slits along the side just wide enough for a barrel to fit through, while the third was perhaps the simplest. It had one half-shielded seat that protected the driver’s legs and waist. Attached to the side was a cannon the size of a small elm.

  On the walls, Yael saw men pacing back and forth, looking out in the distance. The buildings near the main gate were made of the same white stone, and soldiers walked in and out. As they drove deeper into the city, the road widened. The buildings lining the streets were a mix of high brick towers, stone storefronts with apartments on the second floor, and wooden houses. Kids stood out on the balcony watching the travelers enter the city. The road dipped in its center, so whenever Yael looked up, it felt like the buildings lining the streets were looking down at her. Some of the children waved, others spat.

  Marcel shook his head. "Always a madhouse." He pulled off the road and tied up the horses at an intersection. "Jaja, I want you to look after them, all right?” He nodded to the horses. Jaja again puffed his chest out and saluted his father.

  Marcel chuckled. “Jomi, come with me to the east barracks. Bring surplus in case they want to buy more on the spot. Anything leftover, we bring to the market, okay?”

  Jomi was already unloading the cart as his father spoke. Yael waited for her instructions as the two men gathered their things. They pulled out a hand cart from the back of the carriage and took off. Yael remained behind, watching them move deliberately. They had a purpose. A real light to follow like the Mother's star while she was left grasping at smoke. She knew why she came to the capital but now only felt the growing crowds swarming around her. She couldn't help but think of Petey on the trolley or what the market was like. She missed hearing the music down by the docks. People passed her in both directions. She felt like a loose rock in rapids as shoulders and elbows bumped against her.

  Jomi and his father disappeared in the masses. All Yael could see were floods of people. A man dressed in a black suit and the woman on his arm in an orange summer dress. Behind them were three men in black leather jackets; the red-haired one in front pulled the brim of his flat cap over his face. A woman with a metal leg slipped between the crowds waving a paper in the air.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for the girl?” Jaja pointed to his eyes when Yael turned around.

  She nodded a thanks and stepped away from the carriage when a bulky metal shoulder bumped into her chest. The crowds didn’t hesitate as she stood on the bank of their current. Yael kept her elbows tight and her hands up as she slipped through an opening. She held her breath, feeling the gentle exhales of people drifting from shop to shop.

  They were in the lowest circle of the city, surrounded by stores on the road's side and stands in the middle of the street. The alleys were crowded by piles of trash that burned her nose when she moved too close. It was nothing like the smell of saltwater off Port Street.

  Brightly colored tarps caught the eyes of pedestrians as vendors waved them in with promises of full stomachs and protection.

  “The Mother’s blessing will keep King Benny’s forces away. All you need to do is eat one seed every night from now until the solstice,” a man called from his stand.

  “Beware the bear men from Dracar will come, and the only way to kill them is to stab them in the heart with a blade forged by the Brother’s iron under the Mother’s light,” a second, shriller voice called.

  The crowds pinched as Yael moved deeper into the city. The road inclined, and each intersection fed more people onto the main street. Ahead was a tall stone arch. Men in green fatigues marched across the arch's bridge, and in the distance was a high wall made of yellow bricks. Yael knew behind it was the king's former southern palace, where the king of Emerlia stayed during the winter months.

  “You’re all dead!” a deep voice shouted in a thick accent. Yael turned around and saw soldiers with the dragonfly on their chests shoving a pale man with long, black hair down the street. The crowd parted for them. He yelled in a language Yael couldn't understand. One of the soldiers struck the man in the back of the head. He stopped crying at once as they yanked on the rope that bound his hands together.

  “The Dracarians are really coming south.”

  “War is coming!” a woman shouted from the top of a crate. Everyone on the road continued walking as if they didn’t hear a thing, but the woman spotted Yael. She wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off her cold fawnish skin and a black collar. Her blonde hair was tied up in a bun.

  “You!” She pointed at Yael. “You see the truth.”

  "Me?" Yael pointed to herself and stepped backward. Her sunglasses bounced up her nose, and she fumbled to press the frames to the bridge of her nose before they fell off.

  “Dracar men in the south. Skirmishes along the border. War is coming, and the monsters to the north won’t sit this one out.” She swept the street with a finger as she spoke.

  Yael heard stories of Dracar warriors and their connection to the animals of the north. Every child heard the nightmare of Radclaw, who famously rode a white bear into battle or transformed into a white bear, depending on who shared the story.

  A pale man who smelled like tobacco walked beside Yael. His skin hung loosely off his cheeks. He tucked his newspaper under his armpit and said, “Dracar forces haven’t been south since the Coastal Wars. They aren’t marching south now, and they’d never align with Emerlia.” He fanned the woman off.

  She scrunched her face. “Why wouldn’t they fight with the one nation that now shares their goal. The best sailors on the continent came inches from conquering every port until Benedict the Wise cut them off and isolated them to the north.”

  “But he didn’t isolate them to the north.” The man’s voice went high pitched as he spoke. He shook his head, and his eyes became slits. “They still have Dyznae and Wuldernt.”

  “But not Krate,” the woman shot back.

  The man pulled out his p
aper and fanned the woman off once again as he walked away. Yael stayed put. The woman kept shouting to the crowd about Dracar, and a few pairs stopped here and there to listen, but only Yael remained.

  When she had a moment to speak up, she finally asked, “If you’ve been hearing all these rumors, I don't suppose you've heard one about a girl in the city with unique eyes."

  “Unique eyes? What like spying for Dracar?”

  “No, like unique colors—” She forced a swallow. “Different colors.” She stepped forward. Over the bustle of the streets, it was difficult to hear. “One red and one white.”

  The woman shook her head. "Never heard of a woman like that. Sounds suspicious, though."

  Yael backed away into the busy street and bumped her back against someone, knocking her glasses off her face. She clapped around to catch them, but they bounced out of reach.

  She dropped to the ground. “Ouch!” Someone stepped on her knuckles. She pulled her hand back and rubbed her fingers.

  Clunk!

  A bag hit her in the head as a woman walked by without glancing back.

  Smack!

  Two children ran into her. She managed to grab her glasses and fought to her feet. When she straightened up, a child not much older than Jaja stood in front of her. It was one of the two who ran into her. His scrawny legs trembled, and he pointed at her face. “You’re like her.” His voice wavered.

  Yael quickly pinned her glasses to her face. The boy spun on the spot, but before he could run off, Yael pinned him in place by his shoulders. "What do you mean her? You've seen her?" She blocked the child's path. He squeezed his hands together and nodded.

  “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear.” He covered his face with his hands and leaned away.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you.” She dropped to eye level with him.

  “She sent you, right? I swear I didn’t tell!” He kept his hands over his mouth.

  “I’m trying to find her. Do you know where she is?”

  The boy wiped his sniffling nose with his forearm and looked at Yael in a new light. He studied her; his eyes traced her face and figure. By the time his gaze returned to her shades, he had dropped his hands to his side.

  “Whenever she comes to town, she goes to the sanctuary.”

  Yael looked around. A man beat his rug against the wall under his second-story balcony. All around, she saw nothing but commerce. No sanctuary, no quiet. The boy pointed towards the arch the soldiers marched over.

  A loud horn blared, and the two were shoved aside as the crowds consolidated. Yael tried to fight through, but the arms and shoulders of those in front of her were packed tighter than brick. They all cheered as men on horseback started down the streets.

  “Please—I didn’t tell anyone.”

  6

  Horns blared from the walls, and crowds parted along the street for the dragonfly procession pouring through the gates. Two hundred strong marched with Armstrong, who walked beside his horse, waving to the crowds as they entered the city. He wasn't the tallest man, but he had a presence that could eclipse palaces. His short, black hair framed his war-hardened face, and his warm olive skin glistened from sweat after a hard day’s march. Two dark-brown eyes scanned his surroundings. He scratched the bridge of his crooked nose. It had the look of one that had been broken a half-dozen times.

  If he could turn around at that very moment, he would. The applause hit the air harder than hooves on cobblestones. All they were celebrating was death. That's all the army brought. It was all they were suitable for, and all they would continue to be used for until they couldn't fight anymore, or the final war was fought. He longed for the day he received the orders to end it all. To fight in the battle that would stop entire generations from ever raising a rifle again.

  Many in the front row bowed as he passed. Others from the second and third-story windows threw flowers. A brass band in the beige ponchos of Eselport stepped outside and played while men and women danced to the tuba's bass. Armstrong and company marched towards the inner wall where King Benny used to frequent in the winters. The crowds thinned as they exited the lower market district and entered the trade shops where goods were sold to where treasures were made. It bordered the college where students from four of the six nations on the continent vied to send their children.

  However, rather than entering the palace, where the Nisset conducted their meetings twice a week, he continued towards the cottage the president had built soon after the war was over. She insisted change started with the smallest details, and living in a palace was the first step towards replacing a king.

  “Take the men to the east barracks; they deserve a break. If Lamb is there, give him this for being so quick.” He unhooked a coin purse and tossed it to the large man standing beside him. Soon, Armstrong was alone in the garden between the country's grand past and modest future. The palace was a magnificent yellow stone building that softened the sunlight when the rays hit. A carving of the sun stood on top of its steepled front with two hands cupping it. It was five stories tall with floor-to-ceiling windows every ten feet and a garden walkway with arches leading to the front gates. The garden beside it had rows of flowers framing the spiraling stone walkway. One could follow the path all the way to the center and stare at their reflection in the pond, then walk back out the same way, and all their worries would no longer fog their mind.

  On the far end of the garden was the single-story cottage. Sitting outside was a woman not much older than Armstrong with a beautiful fro of curly black hair. A southerner through and through, she wore plain white robes that contrasted her smooth sepia skin.

  “I’m happy to see you’re safe. Please sit with me." She put down her black, bound book. Its gold lettering read Stories of the Mother. Armstrong had the same edition on his nightstand. The Mother had the power to reset the world every thousand years; she even divided the continents. If there was any force that could finally bring peace to their continent and even the world, it was hers.

  Armstrong stepped beside the open seat but didn't sit. His wife told him it wasn't proper to sit without invitation, so he folded his arms behind his back and stood tall. She was always right for more reasons than one. The closest Armstrong ever came to death was sitting across the table from an Emerlia messenger. He couldn't access his blade as quickly and couldn't survey his surroundings efficiently from a seat. While his eyes remained on the messenger, awaiting terms, a second man snuck up behind him. If it weren't for his personal guard stepping into the negotiations, he would've been killed. His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. A saber was bound to his back.

  “You don’t plan on killing me, Colonel, do you?” Diana leaned forward. Her light-brown eyes flickered up like two searchlights catching a spy in the fields.

  “Of course not.” She wasn’t his first choice for president, but he understood how she won over the people. If it weren’t for her efforts in the eastern continent, they never would’ve received aid from Lysander. In a way, he respected the power she lifted with her pen and tongue. Even now in the garden, one sat, and one stood. One held a saber, the other a book. Both moved armies.

  "But, you stand there, stiff and nervous with a hand inching towards your blade." She raised a single eyebrow at the war hero. She had only officially been president for the last two years. Still, She wielded the laws like artillery that made Armstrong's blade feel more like a toothpick.

  “I would hope by now I’ve proven myself enough to—”

  She shooed the air like his words were a cluster of flies hovering around her food. “Oh, not this again. You know you’re Colodian’s favorite son. We owe our freedom to you.”

  The sincerity in her voice made Armstrong’s shoulders tense. She could mean every word of praise, even when speaking with an adversary. Not that they viewed one another as enemies, but it was no secret Armstrong stood behind Gilmore and the northern statesman after the war. If it weren’t for Rishid’s backing, Diana would never have reached her current
office. "You owe far less to me than the men who actually fought." He bowed slightly and felt the mud from the riverbanks splashing up in his face as the horses without riders sprinted away. He could suddenly smell the gunpowder.

  “But you led the charge. I don’t think there’s a person alive who doesn’t know what you achieved at Twin Rivers,” Diana replied, and he snapped back to the vibrant garden.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So, please sit." She gestured to the empty chair once more.

  Armstrong slowly lowered himself. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  "So, what do I owe this visit?" She crossed her legs. The warm summer air draped their bodies as sweat pooled on Armstrong's back. He heard bees buzzing, and the smell of the flowers encompassed them. A man and a woman walked the rows, watering the bright orange, yellow, and purple flowers while a soldier in green fatigues walked the stone path to the pond.

  "It's about my report. I heard the Nisset voted against my request for more forces along the northern border." The skirmishes with Emerlia never died down after the war, but conflicts had escalated in the previous months. Even more troubling was the introduction of uniformed men to the fight. If they weren't acting under direct orders, they weren't contradicting any either, and Armstrong assumed soon the regular armies of the north would be back on their doorsteps. Though Twin Rivers won the war for them, he regretted not marching all the way to King Benny's castle in Disdin Rock. Ending the war didn't mean anything if there were future fights to come. Could they call it peace if they had to continually plan for the next battle?

  “They feel it’s not in our best interest to escalate the fighting along the border. That an act of troop movement to that caliber could be interpreted as a sign of war.”

  “They?” Now, Armstrong quirked an eyebrow. He knew the northern representatives all agreed with him. They needed to at least sure up their defenses now that trained men had entered the fight, something he didn't expect a southerner who spent the entire war overseas in a country like Lysander to understand. "I can assure you the men currently on the border wouldn't see it that way." Armstrong forced himself to keep his voice calm. His hands curled around the armrests, and his breathing deepened.