Hearts of Fire

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Brody bent down to pick up his own sword. It was barely off the ground before his arm gave out and it tumbled back. He switched to his left and awkwardly managed to return it to its sheath without slicing himself in the process. Now he and Yohan were the only two remaining. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some supper. Then music and dancing.”

  As the sun began to set in the west, Yohan glanced back and forth from its brilliant reds and oranges to the bleak blacks and whites of the Stormeres to the east. Both were beautiful in their own ways. He had a sense that one was his past, the other his future, but was unclear which was which.

  “Did you leave your coin purse in the mountains?”

  His eyes shifted to the newcomer. Summer plopped a full basket of clothing on the riverbank. He saw the rainbow of colors and recognized the outfits she and Meadow often wore while dancing. They appeared comparatively dull now, but how vividly they came to life as they whirled in the night.

  Physically shaking his head to clear a confused mind, Yohan replied to her inquiry. “Your pardons, Sister?”

  She laughed, and he realized she was only teasing. Her eyes focused on the first garment that she lifted and shook, then dipped in the water. “I’ve never seen anyone stare at the Stormeres with such longing.”

  Eager to change the subject, he watched her shake a second garment—the bejeweled teal dress she had worn the previous eve. The harpa had concluded with a particularly spirited song accompanied by unforgettable dancing, the fiddlers walking in circles as the dancers flitted back and forth in an ember-wisped haze, at times reaching a tempo so frenetic, he had grown exhausted just watching.

  “I think last night’s performance was my favorite so far.”

  She smiled, still not looking at him. “You liked that, did you? The ngoro. A difficult dance, but I always feel cleaner afterward.”

  “Cleaner? It reminded me of a battle.”

  She smirked. “Nay. The ngoro is actually an ablution. To lose oneself in the movements—and those so rapid, so violent, that all cares are cast off. It is a washing of worries, of foolish desires.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Meadow requested it.”

  He looked away from her gaze, saying nothing. Yohan did not care to speak until the right words came to him. Considering himself no great thinker, that meant he was often silent.

  Summer chuckled—a rich, pleasant sound. She was quick to amusement, a trait he admired but sadly lacked. He glanced back, saw she was once again focused on the washing.

  He watched her work. In a way, it was as peacefully reassuring as staring at the mountains, although he could not explain why in either case.

  “You should be flattered, Soldier Yohan. Meadow is not used to such frustration.” Another chuckle. “She believed you might prefer the company of men. Soldier Brody assures her this is not the case, that she simply must be patient with you.” Summer paused to flick her long black hair back over a shoulder, then resumed soaking the dresses. “An odd thing for him to do, considering he fancies her for himself.”

  She paused again, this time staring toward the setting sun. “I will never understand why people behave in a manner so clearly against their own interest. Yet I see it often enough.” Amused by the contradictory nature of men, she laughed louder still. But not without a hint of sadness—the first time Yohan could recall associating that emotion with the harpa leader.

  “In any case, I told her it is far more likely your heart is simply elsewhere.”

  “Is she angry at me?”

  “By the moon and stars, nay.” Summer’s smile grew wider. “She believes a restless heart only makes the fruits of love all the sweeter.”

  Now that’s an interesting thought. Yohan wished he had believed that a tenday ago.

  “You sound skeptical,” he said aloud, as much to deflect his thoughts as to continue the discussion.

  “I believe that when love is before you, you have an obligation to take it. I have the joy of many blessings, but the greatest is to live and work each day beside my life’s companion. My pleasure could hardly be enhanced if I had to pursue him, or forced him to pursue me. Would that everyone lived by such simple rules.”

  The conversation was beginning to feel a bit like a lecture, her self-assurance oppressive.

  “We aren’t all so fortunate to choose who we fall in love with, Sister.” He stood up. “Your pardons…the corporal expects me back.”

  She stared at him with unreadable eyes. “Of course, Soldier. Do not let me stop you.”

  As point men, Yohan and Bostik walked together a few hundred yards ahead of the caravan. The Valena River was now two days behind them, the Triumphs two days ahead. Already the ground was growing rocky and uneven. More challenging for the wagons, which meant the turtle’s pace would slow even more. Yohan did not mind in the slightest.

  “I have a favor to ask of you, Comrade.”

  Mildly interested, Yohan examined his companion. If he did not know better, he would guess the big brute of a man was embarrassed. “Aye?”

  “Will you couple with Sister Meadow already? Some of us need that to happen before…other things can.”

  Yohan was not sure what he had expected, but certainly not this. “I don’t follow.”

  “It’s Kelsey and Krisa. You’re too dumb to notice, but they both fancy you and ignore the rest of us. And it’s driving us mad.”

  Yohan could not help grinning, both at his partner’s discomfort and his own blind stupidity. Once again out of his element, he simply allowed Bostik to continue.

  “There’s something about that Krisa. Maybe it’s the freckles. Maybe it’s watching those two sirens dance night after night. And seeing them bathe like that... By the Devil, a man’s got to find some relief.”

  “And you think Meadow—”

  “We figure that takes you out of the fight. Your pardons, Comrade. No offense meant.”

  “No offense taken. I’m not sure that I can help you, though—”

  “Great Theus!” Bostik exclaimed. “Do you see that?”

  Yohan did. Crossing over a minor ridge, they looked down a modest slope where the shoddy road traced a path through a wide depression, necessarily weaving between outbursts of broken rock and spartan patches of prickly shrubs. Midway between the height where the two soldiers stood and the next distant ridge lay a scene of carnage.

  A single glance revealed at least a half-dozen bodies scattered amongst the burnt husks of harpa wagons. There were certain to be more, but the point men had a duty to report back before investigating the battlefield.

  Although there were no signs of any immediate threat, Corporal Mercer ordered the squad into combat formation as they collectively descended on the grisly site. A cursory inspection yielded a final tally of eleven. Three harpa, two men and a woman, dressed in the style of colorful outfits used for dancing and merriment. Five soldiers—three women, two men—with Asturian colors over simple chain. Each kingdom provided security for the caravans, who were prohibited from defending themselves. The splintered barrels of wine, olives, and palm oranges indicated that this group had come from Cormona, which had such luxuries in abundance.

  The harpa outfits indicated the caravan had been at rest. Reveling. The attack had been unexpected—but the defenders still managed to kill at least three.

  Barbarian tribesmen, not unlike those from Yohan’s recent experience. Big, bearded, and adorned in a hodgepodge of stolen gear from vanquished foes. The survivors had removed their weapons, but their armor was imperial make, and their pockets full of the knick-knacks so common amongst soldiers. A toy skylark carved from fir brought to mind memories of Yohan’s home province of Nurosterlend.

  Blade wounds caused the deaths of all the defenders and one of the barbarians. Curiously, however, thick arrows killed the two other attackers, a pair remaining lodged in the chest of each. Crossbows were the missile weapon of choice by the Vilnian army, but Yohan wondered whether bows were more common in other kingdoms.
r />   “Damned brigands,” Brody cursed. “This never would have happened while Eberhart ruled.”

  “Aye,” Bostik agreed. “We need a new emperor. Badly.” He kicked a fragment of shattered crate in disgust.

  As the reports filtered back to Corporal Mercer, he in turn relayed them to the four harpa, who observed the scene and investigations in clear distress.

  “Well, Sister, as you’re making decisions for the caravan…we now know the brigands are active in this region. Do we turn back, or continue?”

  Summer faced him resolutely. “We continue, Corporal. The prospect of danger is why you are with us. For the harpa, trading is life.” She paused for emphasis. “This is what we do.”

  Mercer replied with a polite bow. “Of course, Sister.” Turning to the squad, he issued the appropriate orders. “Ledo, Duffey…scout the vicinity to one mile. Bostik, Krisa…find out if there is anything salvageable. Kelsey, Brody, Yohan…bury the dead.”

  As Yohan approached the corporal a discreet distance from the others, Mercer narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Private, don’t you have duty to attend?”

  “Aye, Corporal. I felt there was something you should hear first, however.”

  “And?”

  “About these brigands…” He paused, considering how best to relay what he knew. And what he suspected.

  “Well, Private, stop shirking your work. Spit it out and get back to it.”

  Yohan stiffened, and delivered the blow. To the Devil with consideration. “They likely aren’t brigands, Corporal. In fact, they’re almost certainly not. Vilnia—and now Gothenberg, apparently—are being invaded.”

  “Invaded?” Mercer spat a glob of tobacco juice onto the ground. “By the tribes? What horseshit are you selling me?”

  “By the tribes, aye. And the Chekiks.” Yohan watched the man’s red face turn green, from some combination of fear and the tobacco he had just swallowed. “I thought you should know. I’ll return to my duty now, Corporal.”

  Each squad of Vilnian soldiers always carried a few hand shovels for such unwelcome work. Kelsey handed Yohan one as he joined them, noticing that Bostik and Krisa were helping—there was nothing remaining to salvage, that much had been immediately clear. Yohan thanked her, pushed the blade into the hard earth, and kicked.

  This time their places were reversed. Yohan came upon Summer, watching the sunset alone from a rocky perch. The horizon blazed the deepest orange he had ever seen, illuminating the distant plains while the immediate surroundings stayed bathed in shadow. Her thin outline was a black silhouette painted against a radiant canvas, so striking that he was loathe to disturb it.

  She heard his footsteps and turned, the outline changing shape but the expression still lost to the shadows. “Soldier Yohan. You come to contemplate your mountains.”

  “Do I disturb you, Sister?”

  “Nay. Join me.” She shifted on her rock, making room for him. Yohan preferred to stand, however, and heard her sigh. That was the last sound for quite some time, as each respectfully allowed the other to reflect in silence. His initial reaction was to be pleased that his presence did not frighten her away, nor upset her thoughts. On further reflection, however, Summersong Maple did not seem the sort to let a quiet stranger bother her. She was as much a rock as the one she sat upon.

  “Did you know them, Sister?”

  Yohan felt a momentary panic, for he had spoken without conscious decision. Curiosity was a natural part of him, but to voice it was not. “Your pardons, Summer. I spoke without thinking.”

  Her head had snapped his way, but her tone remained friendly. “You do not give offense, Yohan. Nay, I did not know them. But they are still my sisters and brothers. All harpa are family.”

  “If you wish to mourn alone…”

  “Nay, do not leave. My heart aches for those who died, aye, but I think more of those who did not.” Her voice quivered, as subtly as Brody’s sword had. “I’m sure you noted there were four wagons, and only three dead traders.”

  “Aye.”

  “I worry a sister is taken, and her fear brings me pain.” The shape resumed peering into the distance. “Do you have any sisters, Yohan?”

  “Nay.”

  A long pause as she waited for more. “Do you have any family, Yohan?”

  “Nay.”

  The head turned again. He could feel her eyes watching him, though he could not see them within the black shadow. The effect was unnerving, so much was the unspoken side of conversation relied upon for context. But the sunset was already fading, and soon his disadvantage would fade with it.

  Together they watched the final slivers of color disappear. Then, cautiously, he risked a continuation of the subject. “If all harpa are family, that explains why you use ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ We use those terms, too, but not in the same way.”

  “Nay. You soldiers are a curious lot.” She wiped her eye, and he wondered if a tear had broken through. If so, it was the last. “The titles are for formal conversation. For outsiders. Such pretensions fall away among those we are comfortable with. When the performance is unnecessary, the masks come off. We don’t often use these titles alone, amongst our closest family.”

  “I imagine not.”

  To his immense relief, she gave the hint of a chuckle. “You speak as though you’ve thought about this, Yohan.”

  “Your names are extraordinary. Your full names, that is.”

  She laughed, this time without constraint. “Do you like them?”

  “Aye. But I cannot imagine you use them often, either. My tongue still trips over them.”

  “True enough. We use shortened versions with those we know and like. For others, the proper name must remain. There is a threshold that must be crossed, like two banks of a river.”

  “How do you know when to cross?”

  She shrugged. “There are no rules, but one knows. You may not have noticed it, but we crossed in the midst of this conversation, Yohan.”

  “I hadn’t. I hope I’ve not misstepped.”

  “Nay. We are not so burdened by formalities. You are here to protect us, after all.” Her cheer steadily increased throughout the discussion, and now she seemed almost amused. Perhaps the harpa were incapable of extended periods without happiness.

  “Do your names have special significance then?”

  “Always. And never. Harpa names are whimsical. Full of joy. As are we.”

  “What about your betrothed, Patrik? He is normal.” Yohan regretted the word as soon as it came out.

  Now visible in the twilight, Summer’s face altered, the smile receding. “You’ll need to ask him.”

  Fool. This is why you shouldn’t speak to others.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Soldier Yohan, I must return.”

  He watched her stand, brush off the skirts of her dress, and walk back down the trail. He had spoken poorly, yet could not help believing this was overreaction on her part. Surely she could not think he believed they were all abnormal. Nor would she care if he did. Summer was the harpa leader, and he a single soldier whose opinion meant nothing.

  Regardless, for the first time he found himself less concerned about the mountains in the east than he was about the people in his midst, and for that he was thankful.

  The gap in the Triumphs opened before them. The road, such as it was, ran straight into the mile-wide opening. Yet progress was as slow as the ground was uneven. The oxen struggled with difficult footing on loose stones. Corporal Mercer did not like the dark sky with premonitions of rain. Yohan did not care for the myriad rock formations rising up to either side, giving ample cover for ambushers.

  It would take at least a day to pass through the mountains. He was curious what the other side would hold, for this was his first time in Gothenberg, and his limited education had not extended to the geography of every kingdom.

  The rain came, cold and uncomfortable. The chatter between the soldiers turned sour, as oaths and insults outnumbered friendly stories and
jokes. Even the wagon drivers became more reserved than the norm, their goodwill and gay laughter absent. There was no revelry that night, and the caravan resumed as early in the morn as the oxen could be induced to move.

  Yohan marched on the right flank, scanning each nook and cranny for signs of danger. One particularly large hillock worried him, and he held his breath as they traversed the semicircular stretch of trail beneath its bulk. He counted at least a dozen potential hiding places that could conceal two squads or more of enemy soldiers, brigands, or worse.

  By midday the gentle descent of the road leveled off in the grassy Gothic plain, and they left the rocks behind. But not the unease, and although the good humor began to be restored throughout the procession, a palpable component of anxiety remained.

  Therefore no one was surprised when the point men hurried back to the wagons with a warning. “Riders to the southeast,” Duffey announced. “They saw us and galloped off.” Everyone stared at Mercer, who stood as still and silent as a statue, tobacco juice leaking from his lip. He said nothing for a moment, then looked ahead to the front wagon.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  Yohan and Brody followed a discreet distance behind as Mercer approached Summer, who was already scrambling down from her seat. The leaders of the harpa and their Vilnian escort spoke quietly, leaving the others in doubt. Yohan wondered whether the two of them knew just how important this moment was, how their decisions might very well hold the power of survival or destruction. Then Mercer pointed ahead, to the south, and Summer nodded in response.

  With feet moving before his mind told them to, Yohan walked himself into the discussion. Mercer flashed a look of disdain, Summer of curiosity.

  “Go back to the others, Private. You’ll hear your orders in a minute.”

  “Wait a moment, Corporal. Do you have something to say, Soldier Yohan?”

  “Only a suggestion. We passed a hillock this morn that made good ground for defense.” He looked at Mercer. “If you should decide to make use of it, Corporal.” Yohan intended to make his tone deferential, yet found it difficult to put his heart into such useless gestures.