by Ste Sharp
Everything slowed down.
He saw a white silhouette and an outstretched hand. His arrow disappeared through a thin cloud of dust and, when he opened his eyes, the arrow had hit home.
His wife’s body lay, twitching, with his arrow in her chest. ‘No!’ Dakaniha shouted and the world sped up again. He scrambled over and pulled her limp body to his. Her eyes were empty, staring up to the clouds. Her head rolled back into the long grass, where flowers tangled with her long hair.
‘Adsila,’ he whispered, ‘what have I done?’
He stroked her hair and stared at her face, absorbing every detail: her forehead; long eyelashes; straight nose; the curve of her lips; the arrow embedded in her chest. It was clear she would die.
He had killed her.
‘What are you doing, you crazy fool?’
Dakaniha looked up and scowled at Kastor, who stood over him. ‘This is my wife!’ he shouted.
Even in his pain, Dakaniha could tell something was different about Kastor. His voice was the same but he wasn’t European any more – he was Aniyunwiya. Even his clothes and weapons were Aniyunwiya.
‘The other one is dead. What are you doing with this one?’ Kastor said.
Dakaniha could feel his wife’s breathing slow and turned to her. She looked so peaceful. Then a spasm took her and she coughed, bringing scarlet bubbles to her lips. ‘No,’ Dakaniha whimpered. So beautiful. How did she get here? He stared at the face he had longed to see for so long, absorbing each tiny detail.
Details that were changing.
Her nose was shrinking. Her hair was falling away.
‘What’s happening?’ Dakaniha gripped her tight. He turned to Kastor, who was frowning, and said nothing. ‘What can I do?’ Dakaniha mumbled and stared at Adsila as her face lengthened and her eyes sunk to become two deep holes. He dropped her on the dusty ground and scrambled back as a white glow emanated through her skin.
‘It’s dead.’ Kastor patted Dakaniha on the shoulder. ‘Come on.’
‘It?’ Dakaniha pushed away Kastor’s hand. ‘That was my wife!’ Even as he said the words, he knew it was wrong. How could it be his wife? He breathed heavily and rubbed his eyes, kneeling in the dust.
Behind them the rest of their army, woken by the shouting, was walking over. Among them, Gal-qadan stared with his harsh, unforgiving eyes. ‘Are they dead?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Kastor replied, cleaning his sword.
‘Yes, Khan,’ Dakaniha replied. He glanced back at his dead wife, but saw only the bleached body of a long-limbed creature with his arrow in its chest.
‘And the samurai?’ Gal-qadan asked.
‘No sign of them,’ Kastor replied.
‘Then we proceed.’ He pointed to the sky. ‘Dawn is upon us.’
***
After a day spent in silence, this land’s poor excuse for a sun was low behind its hazy blanket, and another night was approaching. New colours merged with the green of the sky and painted the rolling hills with pleasing shades, yet Dakaniha only thought of his wife. Even if it had been a trick, some hallucination, it had still felt like her. It had been her warmth and her scent. Now, Dakaniha just wanted to go home to the real Adsila. But what would he become if he rode off now and found his way back to his tribe? He would be a failed warrior. Someone who ran from war. A coward.
‘We’re nearly there.’ Kastor looked back from his tocka and flashed his customary grin. ‘I can feel it.’
The Spartan had been like that all day, throwing comments over his shoulder or slowing down to make conversation, but Dakaniha had remained silent. Still, he had learnt a thing or two from the information Kastor had gleaned from Gal-qadan and the huge alien who had joined their army for half a day before stomping off on his long, tree-trunk legs.
‘I will watch you and will return for the weapon.’ Those had been the giant’s last words according to Kastor.
Dakaniha had seen the weapon in action. White light shot from the metal tube as though it harnessed the power of lightning.
But it didn’t interest Dakaniha.
‘We can’t get anyone to ride the metal tocka,’ Kastor said in another attempt to get him talking. ‘And I can’t blame them – too sore on your arse, surely?’ He was grinning again. ‘Oh well, if you won’t talk, I’ll do the talking for you…’
Dakaniha wished he could go back to before he could understand the chatty Spartan.
‘…but nobody could work out why the holes would be like that – spaced out neatly. Probably made by water…’
Rather than tell Kastor to be quiet, Dakaniha played with his new eyes, opening their lids a fraction at a time or squinting and blinking. He could see a range of colours. Deep purples through to blue and, when fully open, he could detect a light that gave the tocka and humans warm colours: red in their core and green at their extremities. It was like he could see their souls.
Now, as the day ended, the colours were less vivid. Dakaniha’s eyes were tired and they settled on Gal-qadan, who led the army. Every now and then the leader rubbed his forehead which, through Dakaniha’s new eyes, pulsated red and pink.
They were climbing a long, steady hill with a set of rocks standing proud at its peak.
‘…apparently Peronicus-Rax says our enemy will be an army of creatures with shells. Like the ones we fought in the marsh.’ Kastor was still talking.
Dakaniha ignored him. He wasn’t sure if it was the light, but something about the rocks ahead looked strange to him. He opened all four eyes and tilted his head. He was sure he saw patches of red on the rocks.
‘So I said–’
‘Stop!’ Dakaniha silenced Kastor with an outstretched hand.
Their tocka kept walking but Dakaniha felt his steed’s muscles tense: they sensed it too.
‘We have to stop.’ Dakaniha’s neck tingled.
‘But we’re nearly there,’ Kastor replied, ‘I can feel the–’ His words were cut off and his spear was in his hand.
The rocks on the hilltop had split into three separate shapes. Dakaniha could see legs, arms and heads, but they weren’t human. They weren’t even animal.
‘Halt!’ A voice boomed out from the silhouettes, followed by a blue light that held Dakaniha and his tocka still. He tried to turn his head but he was stuck. Even his tocka stopped mid-stride, as did the tocka ahead of them. The three shapes moved closer and Dakaniha saw movement behind them. Had these creatures been hiding in the ground? Why hadn’t the tocka sensed them?
‘Do not struggle,’ the deep voice continued, ‘you are not in danger.’
‘You will be when you release me,’ Kastor hissed.
Dakaniha focused on the nearest giant and fully opened all four eyes. Nothing. No, maybe a hint of orange, but nothing compared to the colour of humans and tocka. Were these giants made of metal?
‘You will be scanned before entry.’
If these were the guards, Dakaniha thought, this new army was going to be impressive.
One of the metal men swept a blue light over each soldier and tocka and, one by one, they were allowed to pass, over the hilltop and into the valley beyond. Despite a few shouts and protests, the men rode on.
Dakaniha followed the trail and rode open-mouthed into the valley beyond and under a dust dome, which shaded a world teeming with human soldiers, cat-like creatures and metal giants. When every man had passed the metal guards, Gal-qadan led the diamond-shaped formation of tocka downhill to a man who stood proudly with hands on hips. Even in this light, Dakaniha could see the rich colour of the scarlet cloak that flowed about him in the evening breeze. Oddly, his head flashed a purple colour compared with the scores of soldiers who stood behind him, who were red, just like Gal-qadan’s men.
‘Welcome!’ The red-robed man held his arms out.
Dakaniha recognised the voice from the call to arms. He turned to see Gal-qadan, who remained stony faced.
‘Welcome to our army.’ The man even had a red beard, Dakaniha noticed. ‘And,’ the m
an turned to face the soldiers who had congregated behind him, ‘may I introduce Gal-qadan and his battalion of horsemen.’
Dakaniha gasped. How did he know his name? He turned to Gal-qadan who, for the first time, looked shocked.
‘Gal-qadan,’ the red man continued, ‘is our new cavalry captain.’
***
John heard Joe’s laughter and his shoes, which tapped an erratic rhythm on the bare floorboards. He pictured the scuffed sky-blue leather and the shiny buckles.
‘Wake up, Daddy!’
John could tell Joe was smiling by the sound of his voice.
‘I’m asleep,’ John said with a smile and kept his eyes closed.
Something told him if he opened them Joe would disappear.
‘But it’s time to get up, Daddy.’ He sounded serious now. ‘It’s time.’
‘Time for what?’ John asked, still smiling. ‘Is it time for breakfast?’
‘No, silly Daddy.’ Joe giggled and swung his legs, knocking the bed. ‘It’s not breakfast time.’ He giggled. ‘It’s time to fight.’
‘What?’ John sat up and opened his eyes. It was dark and he could feel bare earth beneath him.
Crossley was standing over him. ‘Sorry buddy, I know you need your sleep, but we’re outta here.’
‘What? I…’
‘Mihran says we need to leave. Battle day and all that jazz.’ Crossley faked a smile and picked up a box. ‘He wants us on the battle site with food in our bellies before it starts.’ He shifted the box in his arms. ‘Anyway, Samas needs this so…’
John muttered something unintelligible and Crossley walked off. The American’s nervousness made John feel edgy and yet, for the first time in this land, he knew there would be no surprise attack or wild animals leaping out today. Today was their last day and they would fight. They had to fight! Crossley had told him about the burnt bodies: cowards were killed.
Joe was right, John thought, and looked around.
The whole camp was alive with soldiers packing bags, moving boxes and putting out fires. John could see the army had grown while he slept. More humans were dotted around the place, and were those horses? The silhouettes were unmistakable, but he couldn’t hear them neighing.
‘How are you?’ Li walked over, her visor reflecting the light of the nearest fires. ‘Are you good to travel?’
‘Yes.’ John tapped his leg. ‘Good as new.’
‘The injured soldiers are travelling with the Lutamek if you would prefer that?’
‘No, I can walk. It’s not that far anyway.’ John wasn’t in any pain and he didn’t want to be lumped in with the injured men.
‘If you’re sure,’ Li said.
‘You can help me up though.’ John offered his hand and Li pulled him up. ‘One more metal limb and I’ll turn into a Lutamek.’ John lifted his gun-arm and gave a timid smile.
‘What doesn’t kill you…’ Li started.
‘You know that phrase?’ John asked.
‘Sure. My database is filled with historic information.’
‘Right.’ John pulled his strap tight, bringing his gun-arm against his chest, and a thought came to him. ‘Do you think after all this – after we get through the silver gates – do you think we’ll go home and I’ll have my normal arm and leg back?’
‘I…’ Li hesitated.
‘Honestly?’ John looked at her.
Li flipped her visor up. She was more attractive than he’d remembered. ‘Honestly? No. You have been physically injured. It’s permanent.’
‘What about Euryleia’s hand?’ John asked.
‘A one-off.’
John glanced down at his metallic arm and leg. ‘I don’t want Joe to be scared of me.’ He pictured Joe’s frightened face.
‘He won’t be,’ Li answered.
‘How do you know? I mean, he’s just a young boy and you don’t know him. He’s smart and brave but…’
‘No.’ Li’s stare was hard. ‘He won’t see you like this because he won’t ever see you, John.’
‘What?’ John’s good knee felt weak. ‘No, I have to get back to Joe. You don’t understand – his mother died and he needs me.’ His head felt light and, as he took a step forward, his leg wobbled.
Li grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Come on, take a seat.’ She led him to a box and crouched beside him. ‘Look. I’m not sure how to say this, John.’
The sounds around them disappeared and John looked into Li’s eyes. She didn’t want to hurt him, he could see that.
‘This world is real. Your injuries are permanent.’ She spoke slowly, as though talking to a child.
John nodded.
‘You won’t see your son again because he died a long, long time ago.’
John shook his head and blinked, pushing tears down his cheeks. ‘No,’ he mouthed.
Li continued, ‘The Lutamek and I theorise we were taken from our planet and transported many light years away. That means a lot of time has passed. Do you understand, John?’
John sighed. He looked away, then back at Li and nodded. Of course time had passed. How else could he explain Crossley or Delta-Six being here? Or Li? Time passes and we all die, he knew that. He took a lungful of air. If he was honest, deep down John had already known he would never see Joe again but, as with Rosie, he’d allowed himself the tiniest hope he would. One day, he’d hoped, they would all be reunited as the family they should have been.
‘You understand that decades passed between when you were taken from your war and when I was on Earth?’ Li asked.
‘Yes.’
‘John, in my records I have details of a British soldier. Can I read them to you?’
John frowned. What was she talking about? He nodded.
‘Lieutenant Joseph Viktor Greene.’
John’s eyes widened. ‘But that’s Joe!’
‘Born on the Fifteenth of April, 1912.’
‘The day Rosie died…’ John looked down as Li carried on.
‘Enrolled in the British army 1939 at the outbreak of World War Two.’
Crossley’s war. John looked over to where the American lifted boxes onto a makeshift trailer. Did he know Joe? Had they fought together during one of his battle tales?
‘…Overlord, decorated for Operation…’ Li listed a run of battles and medals John had never heard of.
Was she really talking about little Joe? John’s stomach tingled with pride at what his son had achieved. Then his stomach tensed: his boy had been through what John had seen. He had seen death. Close personal death. He had killed men. Why? John’s war had been the war to end all wars, yet the next generation had been dragged into the same carnage and destruction. His stomach was a tight ball, just like his good hand, which clenched a fist, and his gun-fingers clicked and twisted inside their metal prison.
‘…married and had three children…’
They were the grandchildren John never met. He would have been a good grandfather; not like his own, John thought. Even giving Joe his grandfather’s name as a middle name hadn’t pleased the old whinger.
‘…attended every memorial service at the Cenotaph until his death on the Tenth of October, 1996.’
He’d died.
His little Joe was dead.
Silent tears ran down John’s cheeks.
Everything was empty and void of meaning. He stared at the ground: the colourless, featureless soil. This was how he’d felt when Rosie had died. Empty. Useless.
John had one purpose: Joe.
After Rosie died, everything John had endured had been for Joe: the trenches; the fighting; the killing. He’d stayed strong for Joe.
And now?
Everyone John ever knew or loved was dead and, when they were alive, they’d believed John had died in the war. They’d mourned him and Joe had gone on to live a full life without him. Without him or Rosie.
John had nothing to fight for now.
Li was still speaking. ‘He probably visited the Cenotaph in your memory as much as his comr
ades’.’
John looked up and stared into Li’s dark eyes. ‘Cenotaph?’
‘A monument for the missing. For those whose bodies were never found.’
John pictured Johnson. His serene face as he climbed out of the trench, never to be seen again. ‘And he went there for me?’ John asked.
Li held his gaze. ‘You were reported as missing in action, John. They never found your body.’
‘Well of course not.’ John looked away and breathed in hard through his nose. He could hear his gun clicking. ‘Of course they didn’t find my…’ He stopped before he swore. ‘…I’m here,’ he whispered.
‘Everyone here has been taken from their loved ones, just like you, John.’ Li looked up at the dark sky and said, ‘And I can barely imagine the effort and technology involved in bringing us all here.’
John couldn’t think of anything capable of transporting them here. He pictured the trains and ships, but anything bigger was too much to think about. His chest felt hot, as though his anger was being held captive behind his ribs. If he wanted to release it, he knew he could. He sensed what he had to do to channel that power, but he pictured Joe and his mind calmed.
‘Do you know anything else about Joe?’ he asked.
‘No, that’s everything I have,’ Li said.
John stood up, feeling the strength return to his legs. ‘Thank you, Li. I appreciate your honesty.’ His arms felt stronger too. The toes on his false leg gripped the soil.
‘Are you okay?’ Li asked.
‘Yes, I…’ John looked around. ‘I’m okay.’ He spoke without thinking. He didn’t know why but he felt like running. Jumping. He saw a box and felt the urge to smash it into pieces. He knew he could.
Li was still looking at John. ‘It’s just… without a purpose, I was worried you would…’
‘No purpose?’ John blinked. He tensed his shoulders and felt the strength of his gun-arm. ‘Oh, I have a purpose.’
