“Last week Nell shit his pants so bad, we had to vacate the campfire,” Jon said amusedly, “And I don’t remember anyone ordering it.”
“In my defense,” Nell retorted, “I had eaten a whole bowl of beans that morning.”
“We move out in five,” Derek said as he passed us, finding his bag among the others lining the trees.
I gathered my bag, for everything had been packed early that morning. I placed it onto my back, along with my bow and quiver. I then fell into the loose formation of my team within the greater group of the Ranged Guard, which fell in with the Bodigan Battalion.
The day slipped past in a haze. It was hard for me to believe that Edon was gone. I didn’t know him well, but that didn’t matter. He was part of our team. He was a member of the Ranged Guard, our military family.
We marched up the mountainside, leaving behind the scene of last night and leaving behind the boots and memories of those lost. Two more souls gifted to Salvare.
Thoughts consumed me as I watched boots slip on the ground. The sun fell through the sky as we moved deeper into the Shrouded Mountains and the cold descended with a purpose. Men sunk into their furs, leaned against the weight of their packs, and marched. It’s hard to explain to one who hasn’t served, the long hours of silent drudgery.
Marching is a time of reflection, silence, and peace. It allows for the subtle observations of the forest. The pattern of falling snow dancing in the wind. The sound of crunching boots upon the frozen terrain, or the shared misery that one embraced as a group.
I struggled to find peace. I remained silent, as I reflected on a singular thought. How had Captain Jakob and Edon died?
I glanced about, as did the others. I noticed Derek raise his eyebrow as he looked around. I glimpsed Sabin chewing on the bark of a birch tree. I watched as Nell remained fixated on the ground before him, mumbling quiet complaints whenever he slipped on a patch of ice.
Jon and David were behind me, quiet as ever. Only the crunching and scraping of their boots marked their passage.
None of this, however, distracted me. I couldn’t drive the image of death from my mind’s eye. I’d killed and skinned animals. But I’d never seen a dead man until that point. I’d read stories of great wars fought and battles won and lost, but they never paused to describe the gory details of death.
That day had become a turning point. It had been the day adolescence was stripped from my desperate grasp. I had clung to the ideals of youth and never stopped to consider my own mortality.
Death was stillness. It was silent. It was eternal.
All I could think about was Captain Jakob shouting orders, cursing, and the low rumble of laughter he had whenever he had said something he found personally amusing. Yet, those thoughts bled away to the final image of an abrupt ending and the corpse of Captain Jakob, suspended impossibly in the air.
Eternal oblivion.
I knew deep down that my selfish, unyielding reason for grief, was not at the loss of my captain, but for the realization he brought.
I was mortal. I too would die. Life was fleeting.
I’d like to say it was an epiphany. I’d like to say that it changed me for the better. But that would be a lie. The annalist had taught me better. Lies were what the lesser gods used to fool themselves into thinking they were great.
No, I was no better than any other man. I was weak. I was tired. I was scared.
I needed a reprieve.
“What do you think happened?” I asked aloud, to no one in particular.
I know we had all been thinking on it. There was a weight to the air that couldn’t be described by the falling snow or the texture of the frigid winds. It was greater than that. It was the collective weight of contemplation and sorrow.
“Do you think the witches took them?” I persisted, into the silence.
“That’s what people are saying,” David responded somberly from behind.
“I call bullshit,” Derek said loudly.
Nell looked up, as if pulled from a dream. “What’re you talking about? Captain Jakob?”
It was strange, but we were more comfortable mentioning captain Jakob than Edon. Losing one of our team was too personal. It was too real. It was so much easier contemplating the mysteries of a more distant figure. Ultimately, it was a roundabout effort to tackle the feelings of grief we all were struggling with.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Derek continued, half answering Nell’s question.
Sabin leaned toward me, “He’s got a point, it doesn’t make any sense.”
I had been thinking the same thing. It haunted me. Captain Jakob seemed invincible. He had fought in wars. He was one of the Heroes of the Siege of Sawol. He had killed men. He was a tough old man who spoke his mind, and now he was gone. Vanished from Verold like some bad dream.
“You’ve got me intrigued, sir,” Jon stated, slipping in near Derek and Nell.
Derek half-smiled at his growing audience.
“Let’s look at the evidence,” Derek said confidently, “Captain Jakob was clearly a more competent officer, and the Ranged Guard, clearly the better unit.”
Nell looked about nervously, “I wouldn’t say that too loudly.”
“I don’t give a shit who hears me,” Derek boasted, before continuing, “Look, it’s apparent that Jakob and the commander didn’t like each other.”
Jon cut in, “Not to mention the verbal disagreement the other night.”
“Exactly,” Derek said. “You think the emperor’s son liked being told what to do?”
I felt compelled to say something, “the annalist told him what to do.”
Derek paused for a moment and turned to look at me. There was a hint of frustration in his eyes. It was a small victory. For some reason, I enjoyed making him fumble. I think it was because he was so cocky, that to humble him, if even for a moment, was satisfying.
“That’s different,” Derek said.
“How?” Sabin asked.
“Simple,” Derek resumed, regaining his confidence, “the annalist is as full of shit as the commander,” this was followed by a short cackling laugh.
For some reason, this angered me. I didn’t know much about the annalist, but he’d already taken on heroic proportions within my mind. People had whispered about him in camp. He garnered respect wherever he went. The commander was silenced by him. Most importantly, he knew the arkein.
“What the hell does that mean?” Sabin asked, whispering to me.
I laughed. It was funny, but, whenever Derek couldn’t logically answer a question, he resulted to meaningless platitudes interspersed with cursing to accentuate his point.
Jon, ever logical, stepped in, “So you think the annalist made up the story about the witches?”
I glanced over to see Jon looking inquisitively at Derek. Jon wore a partially concealed smile, as if he had some hidden knowledge and was simply testing to see if the other party was privy to it.
“Of course not,” Derek responded quickly, “Everyone knows about the Witches of Agathon, but I think he exaggerated their origins and abilities. They’re probably just a bunch of old women who need a good ride, if you know what I mean.”
“I’d ride one of them,” Nell jumped in, hoping to be part of the conversation.
Nell darted a few quick glances about, before adjusting his pack straps, and looking back at the ground.
“Old lady holding out?” Jon asked.
“You know how it is, she doesn’t want to do anything, I can’t even get her to take her tunic off in front of me anymore.”
David grunted. The snow continued to fall. And the group lapsed into a moment of silence.
What Derek said didn’t make much sense. How could the annalist and the commander have collaborated and orchestrated the murder of the Ranged Guard Captain? Why kill Edon then? Although, as I thought on it, both the First File Commander and the annalist were seen on more than one occasion together. The annalist was the only person the commander seemed to
defer to. Was the mission so important, that any who actively spoke against it deserved death? Perhaps, the annalist used the arkein to kill and hide the captain, and Edon was merely an innocent bystander to their power play.
“I’m still curious,” I said, “what do you think really happened?”
Derek did know a few of the junior officers and had been in the military longer. It was possible he knew something more than I did. I was desperate for answers.
“I have a theory,” he said more quietly, his voice taking on a serious tone, “that the annalist and commander were working together to send a message to the other commanders, about who is in charge, and to try to scare the troops into how serious this stupid mission is.
“Look at it this way. Captain Jakob always said, this mission was pointless, nothing more than a glorified protective detail.”
Jon added, “He wasn’t quiet about it either.”
“Exactly,” Derek said, resuming, “which undercut the commander’s authority. We also know how he loves to one up everyone, the commander can’t stand being shown up.”
Sabin leaned in again, “You know who else can’t stand being shown up?”
I smiled. I knew he was referring to Derek, the irony was too much to ignore.
“Remember how angry he was at mention of the Scourge of Bodig,” Derek said.
Nell was now nodding his head.
David grunted, “we all know how the commander loves the Scourge of Bodig. Didn’t they have a fight nearly a decade ago?”
“It was a duel,” Jon cut in expertly, “Apparently the Scourge of Bodig disarmed the commander with his own sword in a single move.”
“Bullshit,” Derek said.
“No,” Nell responded, “Jon’s right, I heard the same thing.”
“Me too,” Sabin said, elbowing me in the side.
“I did too,” I said smiling, knowing it would irk Derek.
Derek cackled loudly before dropping to his serious, lower tone.
“It’s not possible, sir” Derek said.
“So, we’re all wrong?” Sabin asked.
I had to smile. Sabin liked to poke Derek, carefully from a distance, and with all the subtlety of a bear.
“Prove it,” Derek responded, “Disarm me. I’ll have my sword out, and you can do your one move to take my sword.”
Derek laughed loudly again.
“I’m not the Scourge of Bodig,” Sabin countered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said quickly.
Sabin and Derek continued to argue, with Nell and Jon offering their own input. I, however, was no longer listening. I was imagining how a man could disarm another armed man in a single move. What if that kind of man met the Witches of Agathon? Would he still have perished like Captain Jakob? Would he have disappeared like Edon?
My thoughts lingered for a moment on Derek’s theory.
Could the annalist disarm someone in a single move? Is that how Captain Jakob was killed, by a member of our contingent, hidden in plain sight? It was a possibility. One I didn’t want to consider.
I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt the cold touch of falling snow. I heard the crunching of boots. But most of all, I saw the image of the captain’s hanging body in my thoughts. Drained of blood, shriveled, and dead. It was the stillness that haunted me most.
Chapter 8
“Fear is as much about illusion as it is about control.” The Hidden Mind: A book on Interrogation – Imperial Inquisition Staff
That night we made camp.
We had a chance to rest our weary feet, dry our snow soaked clothing, and warm up by a fire. They were small pleasures to be sure, but small pleasures gave purpose during prolonged periods of discomfort.
I sat by the crackling fire, melting some snow in my tin cup. It was a slow process, yielding little water. My stomach rumbled with hunger, but we were on strict meal rationing. The original plan was to supplement the food we carried with what we could find in the forest. Strangely, there was little to hunt or trap in these woods. It was as bereft of wildlife as the Isle of Fire was purported to be.
Instead, I attempted to satiate my stomach with pine needles. They were tart, with a hint of sweet, and completely unsatisfactory. But, it was better to chew something and to replenish my blood with lost nutrients, than to eat nothing.
Nature seemed unrelenting. Not only did she fail to provide us with food, but she stole what warmth we had, as Vintas settled her skirts upon the lands.
The snow continued to fall. An unending sea of falling white, painted the landscape in broad strokes of artic frost. The tree branches sagged under the weight of Vintas’ fury. Mounds of snow became drifts and continued to grow taller, as the sun hid behind a bank of clouds, as if fearful of Vintas’ might.
There was little talk that night. We were all tired. We were hungry. We were irritable. It was easier to focus on the flames and dream of greater things.
I dreamt of warmth. I dreamt of somewhere dry, away from the wind, out of the cold. I dreamt of something hot to eat.
My dreams slipped away as I let my tin cool. I wafted my socks over the fire, watching as curls of steam slipped into the night air. My boots were by the fire, as were many others, belching their own clouds of steam, slowly drying from the day’s march.
I watched as Derek sat contemplatively. I glanced at Sabin, watching him poke at the burning embers, with a stick. Nell stood half naked over the fire, drying his pants. Jon placed his socks over his boots and sat back, closing his eyes.
I too closed my eyes for a moment. The warmth of the flame warmed my soul. It banished the cold, if only temporarily, to a respectful distance. It allowed me a moment of respite. It filled the air with music, crackling and popping.
It made me think on the one who was missing. Edon.
I imagined him sitting on a nearby log, stroking his beard and thinking of something to say to fill the silence.
“I could go for some rabbit,” Dave said quietly.
There was a murmur of agreement. It was funny how simple the wish was. He could have wished to go home, or to be somewhere warm.
“I’m getting a new pair of socks when I get back,” Nell stated into the night.
“To cover your cock,” Derek replied, a small laugh followed, as he looked up momentarily from the fire.
Sabin leaned in, “That’s one,” he said.
There were a few half-hearted chuckles. Not even Derek was fully in the mood for humor or to entertain.
“Put on your pants,” Jon said, “No one wants to see that.”
“They’re wet,” Nell defended, “Plus, its cold, not much to see anyway.”
I looked over to Sabin and caught his eye. We both waited for a retort from Derek. There was none. He was oddly quiet.
It didn’t matter. My gaze slipped away as my eyes grew heavy.
Finally, I replaced my socks onto my feet. They were warm. They felt good. I slipped my untied boots on and made my way to my open tent. It faced the fire, trapping some of its heat. I lay down upon a bed of pine boughs and thought about anywhere but the frozen mountains.
It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep that night.
At some point, in the darkest hours of night, I awoke. I was shivering in a cold sweat. The fire had died to an orange glow, as the perpetual snowfall fought to snuff it out. The once prior warmth had been replaced with the cold stillness of night.
My eyes were gummy and sleep masked my brain in a gray fog.
I had heard a scream, but now, as I strained my ears, I heard nothing. The low thrush of my own heartbeat pulsed heavily. The snowfall had become a salient mockery, laughing as it settled to the ground.
Had I imagined it? Had I been dreaming?
It was too dark to see into the depths of the forest. The fading glow of our once raging fire was the sole source of light. So, I sat there, waiting. For what, I didn’t know. Anything really. Something to confirm I hadn’t been dreaming.
I still remember my d
ream. It was dark and it was twisted. The shape of it still haunts me on occasion. Its shadowed edge spoke of evil; lurking, biding its time as humanity sank further into a self-made pit of narcissistic misery.
Struggling to shed the sticky aftermath of my nightmare, I decided to get up and urinate. We had designated a tree, just beyond the perimeter of our camp as such a spot. The cold always made me want to go twice as often.
I stumbled through the darkness, bow in hand and quiver slung over my shoulder, making out the vague shapes of snow-covered tents, and the darker tree trunks marching up the mountainside into the blackness of eventide.
In the distance, I heard it again. All thoughts fled. This was no dream. There was movement. Someone was nearby, lurking about.
“There’s something out there,” I said, my voice echoing against the silence.
I heard scrambling as soldiers fumbled in their tents. I ran back to my own tent, grabbing my sword. I tugged on the handle, pulling it partially free of the scabbard. I had oiled it the day before, to ensure the frost wouldn’t make it stick.
“Hey, Sabin,” I said loudly into the quiet, “You awake?”
“I’m here,” he said from behind.
“I heard something,” I said, wrapping a strip of cloth about a log from the pile near the fire. “I’m going to investigate.”
“Shit,” he said, “Wait, let me get my boots on.”
I reached into my pocket for the pine resin I had collected, carefully wrapped in a leaf. I stuffed the resin into the hollow at the tip of my makeshift torch and wiped some of the residue on the cloth. I then dipped the head of the makeshift torch into the dying embers of our fire. It quickly leapt into flame.
“What’s up?” Derek said as he stepped out of his tent, his sword strapped to his hip, and his boots already laced.
“I heard something from over there,” I said, pointing.
“Let’s go,” he replied, as if incredulous we had waited this long.
Without word, I began running toward the source of the sound, my torch lighting the way.
I could hear Derek and Sabin following behind.
The shapes of the trees danced in the flickering light of my torch. We passed through campsites, silent as the night.
Into the Fold Page 5
