Whisper

by Harper Alexander

  While the commander's eyes were otherwise occupied, I cast a questioning glance at the Lieutenant. At first I thought she might not spare me an explanation, but it seemed she found sympathy for me as I stood for the commander's pleasure, and granted me the dignity of opting not to leave me in the dark.

  “It seems you've caught Gabriel's interests, Miss Wilde,” she explained. “They've agreed to grant us a forfeit this day if they get to take an up-close account of you.”

  It did nothing to cure my crawling flesh. “Why?” I heard myself ask, the question directed at commander of the demon army.

  “He's curious,” the commander replied, his accented speech an indifferent, monotonous articulation. “About this girl he hears about – gallivanting about on the battlefield like it's her stage. Some rampant, magnificent horse-mistress; savage rider with a charmed mount. Every move some unfathomable piece of choreographed harmony. To the effect that some of the men beg the question: which is the creature? And which one is the master? The one who leads this dance? Or is this some...centaur, out of a legend?”

  It was so dramatic, so craftily spoken – it felt like I was ruining some rehearsed effect when I opened my mouth and let the dry words out; “Gabriel wants to know if I'm a centaur,” I distinguished with a hint of inquisition, prompting confirmation. Gabriel was more taken by this fantasy than I was.

  “Of course he doesn't believe in such things. But where there are stories... It pays to put a face to them.”

  To humanize them. Of course. I was quiet a moment, a little overwhelmed by the responsibility, the opportunity, to have words with the enemy, as if I were qualified to be some kind of ambassador. Then the opportunity struck me as what it was, and I aspired to open my mouth once again. “It pays what?” I asked. “His conscience? So he doesn't have to try to sleep at night or send his men into battle wondering if his monsters aren't the only ones that were created in this world after the quakes? There is more than one way to create a monster, Commander Jarvis.” And with that taunting cryptology, I sealed my lips and let the implications hang.

  “So there is,” he granted, but was left unperturbed. “And more than one way to slay one. Sometimes, all it takes is dethroning the illusion.” And with that touche`, he sealed his own hard lips, let his presence intimidate us a moment longer, and then fingered his reins to turn his fiery dark mount. Four neat, smoldering impressions remained tattooed into the ground where Goliath's hooves had been planted, and I watched as freshly-embering hoofprints appeared in the warhorse's wake as he traipsed over the brush back toward his army of waiting kin. His tail caught the sparks of one, and lit – and glittering smolders spread through the hairs there as well, but never seemed to render a single strand to ash.

  Without a word, the Lieutenant turned her own mount from the rendezvous point and headed back toward our own company. The escort and I followed her, no further ado required, and I felt a little disoriented for what had just taken place. That was it? And yet – Gabriel had taken an interest in me. Was personally interested in the character Lady Alejandra and Cambrie and I had aspired to channel, for the sake of our own army. This Centaur creature. I had to admit, I had not thought to aim for that particular likeness, but I could not be disappointed in the interpretation.

  Especially if its intrigue had been enough to see our army spared this day, as the terms of the day's forfeit had demonstrated. It occurred to me, then, that what we had cultivated in me was the only thing that had spared our army just now. That intrigue, and the desire to put a name to the secret weapon that I masqueraded as, had provided the terms that granted us our lives this once.

  It was an incredible revelation – inspiring and overwhelming in its privilege.

  It was just that, at the end of the day, when the high wore off and our attentions turned to other necessary matters at hand, it could only be a small consolation to the lurking awareness that came with it: the awareness that the leader of the empire that marched against us had taken a personal interest in me. One substantial enough that it was worth sacrificing a perfect opportunity to obliterate us in one swift move, just to put a name to my face.

  Twenty-Seven –

  We took refuge back at Safeguard, getting the wounded situated and tending to all the weary, cut-up horses. The soldiers occupied themselves with war talk and strategies in the tents. There was not the same comfortable air that had come back with victorious company from battles past.

  This was it, I thought – the end of the golden days. I had felt like I had really been a part of something, while we had managed to stay on top of Gabriel pushing east. But now... Well, we had let him past the halfway point, and surely that was a bleak, discouraging sign no matter whose book you went by. That meant, more than any other indicator, that he was winning. We had taken Kansas and held it, but if he pushed east all around it, we would only be able to hold it until he could come at us from all sides. His endeavors to overtake the country were succeeding. It slew morale like an arrow through the heart.

  And morale was done no favors, as far as I was concerned, by the way one Cambrie Gale threw herself back into Jay's company sputtering about how she never wanted to do something like that again. I didn't even get the chance to tell Jay about Fly. And then, waiting through the extent of Cambrie's gushing and Jay showing no signs of redirecting her, I rather lost my enthusiasm. The only complimentary thing I could muster to think on her behalf was: if this was her true stance, I had to hand it to her for not breaking down into a sputtering mess while we were actually out there. But then – who would have listened? I doubted she would have found much sympathy when the rest of us were either out in the fray or coming back to camp in miserable shape – or not coming back at all. Complaining would not have been appropriate or at all well-recieved.

  It must have truly been awful for her. I felt one single pang of sympathy, and then gave myself over to the disgust that couldn't stand her taking advantage of Jay's gentlemanly policies the way that she did. And taking him from me, when I had special things to inform him of. Things that fell in a relevant category she could never aspire to share.

  Fortunately, Toby appeared to occupy my own attention. “I heard it from one of the soldiers,” he said, a hint of a twinkle in his otherwise respectfully-sober eyes. “You turned out to be some kind of savior. What do you think of that?” And then he leaned forward to whisper it, smiling, “Whisper Wilde.” And he left me to my chores, teasing triumph aglow on his face.

  *

  Jay was not so complimentary when next we spoke. He meant business. Letting himself into the round pen where I was schooling one of the mounts, he leaned back against the rail, getting comfortable for the exchange.

  “You're not going back out there,” he said.

  I didn't spare him a glance. “You say something like that every time you open your mouth in my presence,” I said. “Don't you think it's losing its novelty? Clearly, it never does any good.”

  “It's not a suggestion. And this isn't a negotiation. I'm telling you, just so you know.”

  “And you've initiated this as what – my legal guardian? Please. You stop being a minor at sixteen in this day and age – tops.”

  “I'm not letting you go,” he announced matter-of-factly, unperturbed this time. He really planned on keeping me here.

  I faced him, then. If he meant business, fine – I could do business. “Do you know why the army came back this time?”

  “Because you made some fool name for yourself, and managed to be the face of some misguided negotiation,” he rattled off, confirming he'd heard the account. “That was the only reason you or any of them came back this time. And it's not going to be a viable card ever again. Things just took a turn for the worse, Alannis. There are going to be a lot more not coming back. You had your fun playing in the battles that were handed to us, but this isn't your game anymore. Things are about to get a whole lot uglier real fast, and being some dress-up mascot isn't going to cut you any charmed slack or deals a
nymore. From here on out, until and unless something changes back, this is for men who have dedicated their last breath to this. Men who are dedicated to die.”

  I stared at him, my temper cooling at the conviction in his words. By no means did my resolve collapse into a submissive heap, but the annoyance at his meddling cooled.

  “This is for men saying to themselves right now, 'I'm going to go out there tomorrow and give my life',” Jay stressed. “Unless that's you, you don't belong with them anymore.”

  I let my eyes take in the ground at my feet, affected enough to fairly consider his words. “And if that is me?” I proposed.

  “Then I'll cross-tie you to the stakes of your tent myself. With chains. And sit on you. Forever.”

  My gaze returned to him, a small grin of amusement tweaking my lips.

  “You think I'm joking,” he said.

  Biting my lip, I considered him. What if he was right? How long could I cheat fate this way, anyway? How much did my chances go down every time I went out on the battlefield? It was hard to let go of, though – the fantasy had become an addiction, an avenue for those intoxicating, euphoric hormones. The vessel that channeled my exhilarative calling, that stimulated my newfound livelihood. “You haven't seen me out there,” I told him.

  A breath swelled in his chest. Pained? Guarded? Something that might make him squirm, in another life, but he just let it out again. “Nor do I care to,” he said, meaning it.

  “They say I'm magnificent,” I attempted to entice him, lending elegance to my diction.

  “I'm sure you're many things. But I'm afraid 'magnificence' is one of those things you're just going to have to pitch to me another way.”

  Perhaps I should have let him see me that night in the shadows after all.

  “So, what...” I turned a hand palm-upward in question. “You want me to come back to my joke of a cause behind the lines – trying to convince horses they're not afraid of the beast of fire? That's only a fraction of the real beast, Jay. I've seen them. I can make a difference out there – where I can actually actively influence the mount beneath me.”

  “That's one mount, Alannis. It's not worth it.”

  “It is if I'm the only one getting close enough to get a weapon in edgewise,” I argued, my tone rising.

  “Oh – so, what, you're going to single-handedly slay the whole army?”

  “I can make Char dance between them. Like it's child's play.”

  “You're not a killer, Willow,” he denounced, his own tone harsh.

  But the dust of tears pricked my eyes, and I quivered with the rebuking truth: “Yes,” I said. “I am.” I didn't know if I meant it shamefully, or with conviction, or...just as the fact that it had become. Sonya had told me not to count, but that didn't mean I didn't know the motions I had taken, and the consequences that came of those motions. “I am, Jay,” I repeated more quietly, and this time it was pain, clear and true, that lodged in his eyes, seeing me in a position where I did have to come to terms with that being some relevant form of truth. He ached for me, leaning against the fence there – and for himself as well, if he was human at all, mourning the loss of a part of me, part of who I had been to him in the past.

  I let out a struggling breath, ducking my chin to my chest and fumbling with my hands. “It all gets blocked out, but...” Another shuddering breath rocked me, just short of a hiccup. “My hands still deliver the blows. You've never killed anyone, have you, Jay?” I asked flatly, knowing the answer. When I raised my eyes again to him, a tear ran down through the dirt on my face, leaving a clean streak of flesh across my cheek. He stared at me, jaw hard, eyes suffering – arms crossed over his chest, always there to keep his heart in its place. It would never do to have it getting out, would it?

  Another fool tear spilled over, and my lips quivered to hold back the lump in my throat. With a pained breath I let it all out, though, bowing my head again as I stood there in a moment of burdened clarity. I didn't see or hear the transition, but suddenly Jay was there in the center with me, folding me against his chest. The dreams that I had of him echoed against this reality, doubling the warmth and affection that I perceived emanating from him. I let him cradle me, pressing into him like he was the greatest source of comfort in the world.

  The horse I'd been working with moved forward to join our circle of affection, whuffing curious, concerned breaths into my hair at the nape of my neck. Goosebumps formed all down my arms from the tickling sensation, but the warmth of the animal's breath was comforting. Jay took a hand from my back to stroke the animal's inquisitive face.

  In that moment, I felt the perfect opportunity to tell him; “I saw Fly out there, Jay,” I whispered into his shirt, and I felt the motion of his strokes slow.

  “What?”

  “You did it. You saved Fly, and he's fine. You were right – he's a trooper. And when I go out there, he's out there with me. He's the one that saved me, from the gorilla. I saw him.”

  Jay didn't respond, at first, as if weighing whether or not I had fallen pray to some mirage – not altogether unlikely – or if, like after the incident with the gorilla, he shouldn't be surprised. And perhaps whether or not I was saying this because I was still set on making a case for myself, trying to provide proof of my ensured safety, of having fate's blessing. “You saw him?”

  I nodded against his chest, absently chewing my lip.

  Another stretch of thoughtful silence ensued, but I knew he had to think it just as amazing as I did. In the end, it simply didn't steer him off course. “Fly can't protect you against entire armies, Willow. If he's a guardian angel, out there, don't put him in a position where he has to try to save you where he can't.”

  And he had a point. Another one. If Fly was dedicated to shadowing me and delivering me from harm, what would he aspire to do if he saw me charging into battle? He would end up immersed in precisely what I hadn't wanted for him, and the sacrifice Jay had made would be utterly wasted.

  No case there, then. I sniffed, morosely coming back to square one. Sensing the cycle that was to be my way of coming to terms with things, there in his arms, Jay shifted slightly, getting comfortable to humor the process.

  When I had pulled myself together, though, Jay efficiently packed up the brief display of affection. It folded neatly back into the jar he contained it in, and went back up on some high shelf that no one but him could access. He put a bit of distance between us, glancing over my shoulder at the gelding behind me.

  “He's ready for you,” he prompted, and I sniffed once more, quietly, and prepared myself to get back to my session.

  “None of them are ready, Jay,” I told him, but with less heart now. “For anything.”

  “Then get them there.” There was matter-of-fact, undying faith in the charge.

  “And what if 'getting them there' is all that I ever do? Get them to the place where Gabriel can have his way with them without challenge?”

  “And you still propose you could be this missing force that 'challenges' him.”

  “I was something to be reckoned with out there. Ask anybody.”

  “Maybe you're asking all the wrong people, Alannis. Maybe it's not people you should ask.”

  I took a reinforcing breath, clinging to the basis for my case, even if I couldn't win this round. Jay had made his point, but I was unable to simply be the perfect, docile charge under his wing, keyed to release whatever he saw fit. I shifted quizzically, though, wondering what he meant.

  As he turned to leave, he finished the sentiment; “This is a God-given gift, Willow,” he said, with a small flick of his eyes to indicate the horse behind me – and I knew it included all the rest of them as well; was a tribute to all that I could do with them. “Use it as such. You don't need all that other stuff.”

  The fantasies, and the gimmicks, being that 'other stuff'. All the things that I had endorsed in the name of my depraved escapades as of late.

  Then he left me there to re-figure my angle, and my duty – and my d
estiny.

  Twenty-Eight –

  The raids brought in fresh horses, and scouts came and went with intel. New angles were being worked behind the military tents, and the seasons were changing outside. Toby and I worked as hard as ever fire-proofing the mounts, and Jay and I returned to being on speaking terms. It could hardly be called such, with how much speaking he did even on good terms, but communication was restored between us.

  When I could bolster the resolve, I consciously retired as Char's rider. Recruiting a volunteer from the soldiers, I worked with him as my replacement. It was about time I introduced Char to the idea of other people sharing his back, anyway. He was not so sure about it, at first, but he'd had so much practice under saddle – or not, as it were – by then, that it was really only a matter of accepting that the weight atop his back might be a little heavier, might sit a little differently, and smell a little funnier.

  It was emotional for me, handing him over to someone else. I felt as though I were abandoning him, and my feelings of responsibility for him did not rest well with the arrangement. I couldn't look after him out there anymore, couldn't maintain my half of the dependable partnership we had developed. I just knew that he was going to be shark meat the instant he stepped out on that battlefield without me there to have his back. But he was the best of the bunch, still. We couldn't not put him out there. He was still the go-to mount to put at the front of any battle.

  I had to not think about it, or else I would never be able to accept the idea of parting with him, or going through with this treasonous business of dedicating him to another master.

  Patting his neck with resignation, I signed him over to his new captain, and he stood there dozing patiently, trusting me, not understanding the full implications of the exchange. With tears lodged in my throat, I left the two of them to finish up their session together, trying not to cling to the idea that it should be me.