by Dan Bilodeau
He was now seventeen and had survived two Conscriptions. Would his luck hold out? He could only pray to Dio. But he had a bad feeling that his turn would come this year. Luck could only take him so far. His stomach tightened. If his name was drawn, how would Soren survive? How would his mother? He went through this every year, and now he would be doubly tortured due to Soren’s entry in the awful lottery.
“Hello, Dalziel and Soren,” came a soft voice from behind where the boys were standing. Dal jumped. There he was, daydreaming again. Deidre lived with her father and brother on the farm next to his. Her mother had died years ago, about the same time as Dal’s father.
“Hello, there,” he managed. “H-how are you?” Her hair was starting to curl, which he thought looked better than when she wore it straight, as if it mattered what he liked.
“Would you mind if I borrowed a bucket of milk?” she asked. “We don’t have any milk cows right now that are producing.” Dal was surprised. Hers was one of the best-run farms in the area, and they were considered one of the most affluent families. Her family must not be doing as well as everyone thought.
“Sure,” Dal said. “We need to go in anyhow. It’s going to be all mud out here in a few minutes.” He motioned to Soren to go on ahead, and his brother managed a snicker as he ran by, waving his hoe.
They hustled along toward the barn in awkward silence, and Dal found himself thanking Dio for the rain. He enjoyed it. But his inner voice screamed, “Think of something to say, you idiot!”
“How’s your family doing?” he managed just as they arrived at the barn.
“Fine.” A troubled look marked her pleasant features with creases Dal had never seen before. “Actually, not so good. My father’s planting corn, but he’s getting old and it shows. It’s horrible for his back. And my brother Roland has the shakes. But the Andals won’t allow their precious medicine to be sold to Ibernians, so the planting is left to my father and me, because with the Conscription, there aren’t any boys left to hire. Damn it, it’s not fair.”
Her outburst was more emotion than Dal had seen from Deidre in all the time he had known her. But then again, had he ever really known her? She had always been so shy and polite around him, but behind that veneer was a young woman who was not afraid to express herself when she was passionate about something.
“I wish I could do something more to help you, but right now couldn’t be a worse time and--“
“Shhh. You are helping. Warm milk can help Roland with the shakes. But that’s enough about us, how are you doing?” She gave Dal a look that made him feel she was thinking of him in a different way. It made his legs weak, but he felt he could talk to her and that she would understand what he was going through.
“The truth is, I’m anxious about the Conscription. I’ve managed to avoid it a couple of times, and now with Soren being old enough, it’s….” Dal couldn’t finish. He tried again, but with the same result, and Deidre didn’t push him. When the pail was full, he handed it to her.
“Thank you for the milk,” she said, adding a wide smile. “I hope neither of you gets picked.”
He shuffled his feet, never having felt such intense emotion before. The farm, his mother, Soren, the Conscription, now Deidre, it was so much pressure that he could barely speak. “Walk, walk you back?” he asked, almost breaking down before he got the words out.
“I’d like that, but I can manage.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he almost fell over. “However, I don’t feel right taking this milk without offering something. How are you with a bow?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You know, a bow and arrow. Are you a decent shot?”
“I’m okay. Well, not really. Honestly, I couldn’t hit a bull in the behind from five feet away.”
She laughed. “Being a good hunter can make the difference between life and death when food is scarce. How about I give you a lesson later this week?” She winked and his knees got weak again.
“If, if I make it by the Conscription, su-sure.”
“You’ll make it.” She gave him a smile that made his knees go even weaker, and left.
He didn’t realize he’d been staring after her until she was out of sight. He was so excited that he stumbled over himself as he turned to walk to the house. He thanked Dio that his brother wasn’t here to see Dalziel--the lady-killer.
Dal was in a daze, and he wouldn’t have seen the pair of eyes watching him from a nearby copse of trees if he had been looking right at them. “Bless my stars, the boy’s in love,” the figure of a man said to himself and cackled. “That certainly complicates things, wouldn’t you say?”
FOUR
He soared above his farm, unseen from the world below. It felt right in a way, albeit a little strange. He turned and noticed he had company. “Howdy, Pad, how’s it going?” Dal asked his friend Padraig.
Pad’s flying was even odder than Dal’s flying, as Pad was huge. Seventeen, the same as Dal, Pad towered over him as he did all the boys in Quork, regardless of their ages. Even his feet were massive. Fair-skinned with gray eyes and a shaved head, Pad was, Dal supposed, handsome in his own way. And although his size alone made him fearsome to behold, he was a gentle giant.
“Good, Pad, where do you want to go?”
“Away from this crummy place”
They both laughed.
“What are you dummies laughing about?”
They both turned to see Curran, another friend of theirs. While Dal was the daydreamer and Pad the quirky one, Curran was a no-nonsense hardworking farmer from west of Quork. Despite their different personalities, the three had been best friends for as long as Dal could remember.
“Nothing, what are you up to, doofus?” Dal asked, giving him a playful glare.
“Let’s go to the fire pits!” Pad said, before Curran could answer.
Pad dived left, toward the pits. “Better follow him so he doesn’t hurt himself,” Curran said to Dal, and they sped after Pad. They rushed through the air and Dal felt the wind against his body. He was truly alive! And while zooming through the air toward the pits, he was struck by how normal all this seemed. Why shouldn’t they be able to fly?
Within moments they arrived at the pits. Pad was already on the ground, when Dal spotted a red light coming from near where his friend was standing. “Get down here, fellas, you have to see this!” Pad shouted. Dal was about to descend when he realized he couldn’t feel the sun on his back anymore, even though it was midday. He turned and screamed.
“Nooooooo!” he sat up in his bed panting. Sweat rolled down his back as he yanked off the covers. Soren poked his head in, a look of concern on his face.
“You okay, Dal? What happened?”
“Nothing, just a nightmare.”
“Only little kids get nightmares,” Soren said solemnly. “You sure we got to go town today?”
Dal’s stomach clenched like a fist. Conscription Day had arrived. “Yes,” he managed weakly, because any boy who didn’t go was automatically taken.
He had already been through two Conscriptions, so he fully expected the knots he now felt in his stomach, but that didn’t mean he knew how to deal with them any better. All he could think of was Soren, and his friends Pad and Curran, and how he wouldn’t be able to stand leaving them. And now his brother was eligible. His mother, while lately showing a spark of her former self, was still far from able to handle the farm on her own. What will happen if I’m chosen? He pulled the pillow over his face.
He thought back to all those nights when Soren was little and scared of the dark; especially during thunderstorms, when his brother would run in to his bed, terrified. He would comfort his brother, assuring him that there was nothing to be afraid of. No monsters were going to get to him. But he had lied to Soren. He had lied because there was something to be afraid of. These Andals were monsters who could rip a family apart, and it could happen to his today.
His mood dour, he dressed slowly. Through his win
dow, he could see the trees bending in the wind. He placed the stone in his pocket, and it began to pulse slightly. Maybe it would bring Soren and himself and his friends good luck.
“Boys, it’s time,” their mother called to them. She was wearing her finest dress, but she displayed a mien that told anyone she was dying inside. “I’ve been praying to Dio that neither of you will get picked. May He protect you both.” She hugged them both and burst into tears.
“Thanks, Ma,” Dal said. “We’ll be okay. You’ll see.” All three went outside together, both brothers walking on either side of their mother. Dal gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and forced a smile, hoping she couldn’t sense how hard his heart was pounding.
They hadn’t made it very far before Deidre ran up and joined them.
“You're going to the Conscription?” Dal asked.
“I thought you two boys might like a little moral support. You don’t mind, do you, Dalziel? ” The way she looked at him made him feel as though the earth were moving beneath his feet.
“Call me Dal,” he replied weakly.
“Call me Dal,” Soren said mockingly and then broke away from his mother and into a fit of laughter. Dal also let go of his mother’s hand, stepping around her and punching Soren in the arm.
“Ow, that hurt!” Soren yelped as he rubbed his arm.
“Good.”
Deidre looked from one brother to the other and smiled, as if enjoying the scene she’d just caused.
“How are you holding up?” Deidre asked Dal’s mother in a gentle voice.
“About as well as can be expected, I suppose.” She wasn’t crying, but appeared on the verge of tears. Deidre turned to Dal.
“Thanks again for the milk the other day Dalziel, I mean Dal. Roland is coughing less.”
“How’s his fever?”
“Not good.” Her lips quivered slightly. “But we’re hoping for the best.” They walked the rest of the way in silence. The stone, which had been pulsing, stopped, and Dal felt as though they were marching to a funeral.
When they reached the town square, the mood was somber. Vendors were still selling their wares, but not with their usual zeal; everyone unquestionably preoccupied with the Conscription, which was set to begin within the hour.
Dal spotted Pad and Curran milling about. Pad’s mother had passed away, but he didn’t notice Pad’s father anywhere. “Hey, Pad, how’s your dad?” Dal asked when both boys walked up to him.
“Good, but he didn’t want to come today. Just in case, you know....” Pad kicked at the dirt.
“Same with mine,” Curran said. “With yesterday’s rain softening up the soil, I’m sure my parents are using today to get a head start on planting next season’s crops, the cheap sods.” Curran wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, as Dal had heard similar remarks from him many times in the past.
The relative quiet was broken by the sound of a flute. Hadrian had taken seat on a cart and begun playing a tune Dal knew. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his friends. He had to learn more from Hadrian about the stone, and this couldn’t wait.
But before he could take two steps, he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Hewas surprised to find it was Deidre. “Good luck today,” she said. “I pray you don’t get picked.”
“That makes two of us.” He felt his eyes getting glassy.
She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “For luck, Dal,” she said.
He stood and stared, unable to say anything, but a smile slowly crept across his face. She returned his smile and ran off. It occurred to Dal that she had used his nickname willingly for the first time. He started walking back to his friends and Soren, but halted mid-stride. The stone, you idiot, don’t let her completely addle your brain. He hadn’t noticed the music had stopped, or that Hadrian was no longer sitting on the cart. And when Dal searched, he couldn’t find him anywhere.
The town hall had a long run of granite steps, and today a makeshift platform was fitted atop them. Constructed of wood, it reached out for 50 feet.
The clock in the tower struck noon and the town hall doors opened. A dozen Andal soldiers clad in full armor marched out, followed by the local magistrate, Hobarth, who Dal found to be a dull and uninspiring man. His speeches were painfully boring, and once a year he would drone on about new Andal codes of behavior. Then in the same breath he would talk about Ibernians and Andals getting along. Not that anyone would be awake by then.
Hobarth was a heavy man with a baby face. He had long, flowing black hair that was parted in the middle. Everything about him was round, including the shape of his body. He wore a crimson red robe with the image of the Empire’s helmet on it, which was red on a white background, and a fierce representation indeed. The emblem seemed to pull people into it who looked at it too long, digging into their souls.
“All right, you lot, settle down,” yelled a soldier who was on the ground with the locals. He pushed people back so that a substantial gap existed between the platform and the Ibernians. Why he would be worried was anyone’s guess, since the crowd consisted of teenage boys and their farmer parents. Any thoughts of insurgency had died ten years ago.
However, Dal understood the need for some soldiers to be there. A few years earlier, a boy had been chosen whose father became so distraught that he rushed the stage, snarling insults and hurling rocks. Two javelins to the stomach literally stopped him dead in his tracks, and the young boy was dragged away as his father died in a pool of his own blood. Such was life in Quork.
Two soldiers rolled out a giant six-sided drum, and the Conscription officially began. The drum was large with clear sides, and held hundreds of pieces of paper with the names of Quork teenagers inside. Designed to spin on a shaft, it was configured between a set of iron wheels that squealed as the soldiers pushed the unit into place, next to Hobarth.
An Andal soldier was turning the crank that spun the drum when the magistrate motioned for him to stop. He opened a small door and reached in and pulled out a name, which he yelled to the crowd. Dal didn’t know the boy and let out a sigh of relief. The magistrate rattled off names for another 30 minutes, and miraculously not a single boy that Dal knew had his name called. “Come on, be done with this,” Dal said under his breath, adding, “Dio, please let this end.” It was then he heard:
“Soren, of the Quork farmlands!”
At first, Dal thought someone from the crowd was yelling his brother’s name.He looked at the magistrate and realized what had happened. The ground started to spin. He looked at his mother, only to see her faint and be caught by Deidre before she hit the ground. He screamed, “NOOOOOO!” and fell to his knees. He had used all the power that his lungs would give him for that scream, and he was gasping for air. How could this happen? This is how Dio repays his prayers? Some great god He turned out to be. It was supposed to be him! Take him instead!
A hush had come over the crowd. Severe punishment awaited those who disturbed the Conscription. Dal was standing before he knew how, then he realized that Pad and Curran had lifted him up. He couldn’t bear their looks of sympathy. He turned away. “Soren!” he yelled.
Everything became a blur. He saw his brother standing nearby. He wasn’t scared or running. Then Dal noticed that Soren had a rock in his hand. Dal raced over. “Soren, no!”
But he was too late. Soren struck the magistrate squarely in the face, knocking the man over. “Down with the Andals!” he cried. “You’re all a big pile of cow dung!" He turned and ran.
Dal tried to stay with him, but Soren’s smaller size made him too shifty to catch up to as he raced through the crowd, shouting unsavory epithets at the Andals. Dal watched as several Andal soldiers, with swords drawn, weeded through the throng of people. Dal followed right behind them, as the locals did their best to hide Soren, but his shouting gave him away. The soldiers closed in on him, and Soren burst from the crowd and ran down the road, toward the farm. “Come on, Dal, to the woods,” he yelled over his shoulder as an Andal archer nocked an a
rrow.
“Stop,” Dal pleaded with the Andal. “He’s just a boy.” Dal ran toward the man to take the shot for his brother, but he felt the shaft whiz by his head instead. Soren was 50 yards away when the arrow hit him squarely in the back. Dal watched his brother fall as if thrown to the ground by a giant hand.
"Dio, please, no!” Dal screamed, tears streaming down his face as he ran to his brother. He turned Soren over to see the arrow protruding from his chest.
Soren was coughing up blood. “I got him, did you see my shot?” He laughed weakly.
“Yeah, you got him good."
"Stop crying. I think…I think I’m going to be with Dad.”
“No, don’t leave me!”
His brother looked him in the eye. “You can’t come with me, you’ve…you’ve got a job to do. You’re special. I told you that, remember? So don’t forget it. You’re spe….” Soren closed his eyes and stopped breathing.
“No, Soren, please don’t leave me.” Dal rocked his brother’s body and continued to cry.
Dal had lost track of time when a pair of hands grabbed him. “Let’s go, son,” said a gentle voice, and one he recognized. Hadrian, his eyes filled with sorrow, helped Dal to his feet. “There’s nothing we can do now, we must go.” Dal fell back to the ground the moment Hadrian let go.
“Let me go, Hade,” he mumbled as he cradled his brother. “Let me alone.” Hadrian started to say something when Dal heard the sound of laughter coming from the Andal archer.
“Stupid boy,” he said to two soldiers standing with him. “Did you see that shot? He went down like a sack of potatoes.” They clapped him on the back.
