The Darkness of Dawn

by Braden Michael

  Viktor pulled out his dagger, held the blade towards the ice, then hesitated. I saw Anton’s dagger shatter. But none of the ice melted before. He shrugged, then began to carve out small chunks of ice from the tree. His knife sank into it like butter, and he methodically carved out a small piece of ice, felt the level of coldness in his hand, then popped it into his mouth, letting it melt into refreshing drinking water. He repeated this process at least a dozen times until he felt thoroughly quenched.

  Viktor formed a circle with his two hands and placed them in front of his mouth to better direct his voice. “Hey! Wake up!”

  Alexey and Anton began to rub their eyes. They shot up to their feet then looked over to Viktor.

  “What’re you doing over there!?” Alexey called, forming the same hand circle around his mouth that Viktor had.

  “Getting water! The tree isn’t cold enough to shatter steel, nor is it too cold to fuck up your mouth if you want some.”

  Alexey furrowed his brow momentarily then hustled over to Viktor. Anton quickly followed.

  “How’s that possible?” Alexey inquired.

  “Of all the crazy shit you’ve seen the past couple months, you’re perplexed by melting ice?” Viktor chuckled.

  Alexey held out his hand and Viktor handed him the dagger. Alexey started carving himself a chunk of ice, then popped a small piece of it in his mouth, taking the time to let it melt.

  “Not bad,” Alexey remarked.

  “I’ll try some,” Anton said, taking the dagger from Alexey.

  Anton followed the same process. All the men repeated it at least a dozen times before stopping. Viktor took his dagger back from Anton then sheathed it. Then, they walked back to their campsite beneath the alcove.

  “How far from the AZ are we?” Alexey asked.

  Viktor noticed a set of markings on the wall of the alcove. When he walked towards it for further inspection, he realized it had to be a written message, but it was in a language he did not know. The symbols were mostly familiar letters, but several unfamiliar markings comprised it. Could Alexey read this?

  “Alexey! Come here a second,” said Viktor.

  Alexey shuffled over. “What is it?”

  “Here.” Viktor placed his finger on the inscriptions. “Can you read that?”

  Alexey leaned in and squinted. His eyes darted across the inscription, scanning it intently. Within seconds he opened his eyes wide in an apparent moment of realization. “Holy shit, it’s written in the Old Words!”

  “I thought the Old Words were, well, old,” Anton joked.

  “Why’s it even in the Old Words at all?” Alexey inquired.

  “Can you read it?” Viktor questioned.

  Alexey continued to scan the markings, mouthing different syllables and softly muttering others. “Id—idti, na od—odnu m—mil—milyu….”

  “What does that mean?” Viktor prodded.

  “One more mile!” Alexey quickly ran out of the alcove and looked around, then turned back to shout at the others. “I… I think we go this way!”

  “Are you certain?” Viktor asked.

  “You have a better option?” Alexey retorted.

  “Not yet,” said Viktor.

  Viktor picked up his bag and Alexey and Anton followed. Alexey led the march with a brisk pace, the others keeping up just behind him. They maintained the pace for several minutes, when the air noticeably began to grow warmer.

  “I think we’re close!” Alexey exclaimed enthusiastically. He shifted from his fast walk to a light jog.

  Viktor would normally be disinclined to jog, but he felt ready to sprint. Still, he lightly jogged at Alexey’s pace. Are we truly about to leave this fucking place? He began to sprint past, turning back to the others. “Let’s see who gets there first!” He faced forward, laughed boisterously, then dashed full speed. The others laughed then sprinted.

  The wind rushed against Viktor’s face, wiping away at any anxieties or negative thoughts that once plagued his mind. There was no more Winterguard, no more death, no more conflict: just him, his friends and the wind. He was trapped in a state of bliss. The joy in his heart kept building, and building, and building, as he approached the final set of trees that made up the Forest, and his happiness peaked as he set foot in the lands beyond. I made it. I made it out alive…

  As Viktor breathed rapidly and deeply with inconceivable relief, Anton and Alexey caught up to him.

  “WE MADE IT!!!” Anton screamed into the air. He turned around to face the Forest. “YOU FUCKING TRIED, ASSHOLE! YOU TRIED, AND YOU FAILED AT KILLING US!” Anton laughed like a boisterous madman.

  Viktor and Alexey joined, shedding countless tears of joy.

  Viktor looked at their faces. Their bright smiles further brightened his own. Nothing will take this moment away from me. Nothing will bring me down.

  “WHO GOES THERE!” a somewhat distant voice bellowed. Horse hooves clacked and clattered, gaining in speed and volume.

  The Winterguard, Viktor thought bitterly.

  CH 28 – Alexey VI

  In nothing slower than a flash, they were surrounded by twenty Winterguard horsemen who fully encircled them, keeping them locked in place with the points of their spears. The assumed leader of the Guardsmen dismounted then walked up to Alexey.

  “Alexey?” He was soft-spoken, yet his voice bore a certain ruggedness.

  “Yes.” Alexey was breathing hard and heavy, still recovering from his earlier sprint.

  “I was atop the ramparts back at the depot. I saw the Arch-Commander single you out. I’m Sergeant Stasov.” He looked behind them. “Where are the others?”

  “Abomination chow,” Anton stated plainly.

  “All of them?” Stasov was bewildered.

  “Not us,” Viktor bragged.

  Stasov lightly scoffed, and the horsemen chuckled. “One hundred recruits went, and you three are the only survivors?”

  Alexey did understand that three survivors seemed an exceptionally low rate. It would be difficult to believe that the rest of the recruits, ninety-seven of them, died during the March or in the Forest. What am I supposed to tell him? I found an Artifact, it enthralled every surviving recruit, then summoned a pack of Abominations that killed all of them?

  “I guess the others weren’t strong enough,” said Alexey, shrugging.

  “The Winterguard does not want dastards or inept cretins to be Hers,” said Stasov, emulating the Arch-Commander. Chuckles followed, and the horsemen lifted their weapons up, holding them at rest. “Well, come with us. The Arch-Commander will want to see you.”

  The Arch-Commander. Alexey offered the Sergeant a hollow smile, hiding his distaste.

  The Sergeant climbed onto his horse, mustered a hyah, and led the group away from the area. The horses trotted at walking pace, allowing Alexey, Viktor, and Anton to keep up with them.

  “So, I take it we’re one of the smallest groups of recruits to survive? What’s the typical number?” Viktor asked.

  “Fifteen. Twenty if the group is particularly tough. My group had twenty-two survivors including me,” said Stasov.

  “What’ll the Arch-Commander think of that?” Anton asked.

  “He will think the same as he always does: the weak don’t survive.”

  Plenty of the men who died weren’t weak. We only survived due to luck. He wanted to defend many of the men who had died, especially Casmir, but he dared not speak of the Artifact. He held it in his palm, savoring the soothing sensation. His connection to it strengthened with each passing moment.

  Alexey dreaded the imminent meeting with the Arch-Commander that would soon take place. I survived a march through the worst stretch of land in all of Dawn, endured hardships and extreme cold that very few Dawnlanders would ever know, and my prize is that I am to be an expendable thief and enforcer for the man.

  While walking beside the Winterguard horsemen, Alexey felt slightly discomforted by their lack of speaking. He had expected them to welcome the surviving recrui
ts with a little more splendor than they were displaying. Instead, they sat silently atop their horses with stark frowns glued onto their faces.

  After five minutes of walking, they reached the top of a hill and laid eyes on an encampment. Two dozen large white tents and a single massive tent were tightly concentrated on the flat ground. Patches of grass snuck through the permafrost throughout the ground, highlighting dark-green walkways in between all the tents. Over a hundred Winterguardsmen were scattered throughout the encampment, sparring, drinking wine around a fire, or maintaining their armor or weapons.

  “I’ll take the recruits to the Arch-Commander, the rest’ve you are dismissed,” said Stasov, dismounting from his horse.

  The Sergeant handed his horse’s reins to the Winterguardsman beside him, motioned the recruits to walk with him, then began to boldly walked down towards the encampment. As the Sergeant, Alexey, Viktor, and Anton began to descend the hill, the nearby Winterguardsmen looked up at them, breaking away from whatever they had been doing. The sparring men no longer clashed steel, the campfire sitters no longer drank from their wine flagons, and the armorers and smiths broke away from their work to offer mixed looks of scorn and admiration. “Three of them? That’s it?” one soldier scoffed. “That just means ninety-seven of them were weaklings,” his comrade said. Various other murmurs echoed lightly and inaudibly from the spectating guardsmen, and Alexey tried to ignore them.

  “The Arch-Commander will be in the big tent,” the Sergeant informed.

  They reached the tents, which appeared much larger than they had from the hill. Peeking inside one of them, Alexey saw at least two dozen men resting on two dozen beds, along with barrels and crates filled with provisions. I wonder how they acquired those provisions. Alexey wanted nothing more than to give the Winterguardsmen a piece of his mind, but he forced his tongue to remain passive. Viktor choked me out to prevent me from getting out of line.

  After passing a handful of tents with various numbers of Winterguardsmen occupying them, they finally reached the entrance to the main tent. It stood nearly ten feet tall and seemed to stretch ten times that amount in width. The entrance had thick curtains of white velvet and the Winterland Snowflake sprawled over the body, lined with countless tiny flecks of gold and diamonds. A year ago, Alexey would have been amazed by the aesthetic, but now he found himself offended by it.

  The Sergeant pulled the curtain open and motioned them to walk inside. The lavishness of the interior put the curtains to shame: white velvet and silk lined the floor, ceiling, and walls, while a chandelier that held white oil lamps was hung above a pure glass table. Seated on glass chairs at the table were the Arch-Commander and Captain Petrenko in their armor, along with a lavishly dressed and handsomely groomed older man. He’s wearing the silk and leather white tunic of a Senator…

  “Arch-Commander. Captain. Arch-Senator,” the Sergeant addressed.

  Arch-Senator? Volkov? Doesn’t he have a Republic to govern?

  “Sergeant,” the Arch-Commander said stiffly with his thunderous voice. He studied Alexey, Viktor, and Anton. “Shitty and worn coats, I can only surmise that you’re recruits.” He stood up and walked over to them. “Ah… now that I can better see your faces…” He focused on Alexey and smiled. “Sokolov. I think you’re officially the youngest ever recruit to survive the Forest.”

  “Uh,” Alexey tried to think of an answer.

  “And you,” the Arch-Commander said as he looked at Viktor. “I had a feeling you’d make it.”

  Viktor simply nodded. The Arch-Commander looked at Anton for a few moments, then then took a step back and glanced back at the Arch-Senator. “None of the conscripts you sent me survived. Only volunteers.”

  Conscripts!? Alexey thought angrily, although he dared not speak.

  “Alas.” Arch-Senator Volkov had an elderly yet powerful voice. “Volunteers are much more motivated and loyal to the Winterland Republic. Although, conscripting the prisoners is a good way to get rid of them,” he said slyly.

  “That’s true,” the Arch-Commander admitted, “but three new Winterguardsmen is not a satisfying number. I would ask of you higher quality conscripts.”

  “Conscripts?” Alexey could not help but blurt out.

  The Arch-Commander and Volkov looked at Alexey, squinting at him. Volkov appeared to be studying his look intensely and closely. “Is Vladimir Sokolov your father?”

  “Y—yes, Arch-Senator.” Alexey looked down, then back up at Volkov.

  “Alexey Sokolov…” Volkov appeared to be reminiscing. “Your father was more effective at procuring the Guard’s provisions than any other logistics operator in my living memory. It’s why he was rewarded with his Zhakagrad deployment, and that house in Volkograd you grew up in.”

  Alexey faked interest in Volkov’s praise. My father was a logistics operator for the Guard? The best at thievery and murder? His smile was forced and his nod never ending, but he was just convincing enough to please Volkov.

  “He told me stories of how honored he was to serve in Her ranks,” Alexey replied. He felt odd the moment he said Her instead of Winterguard. To appease the highest Senator in the Republic, he had to act like himself: his past self.

  “I’d like to see if the son takes after his father.” Volkov smirked. “You’re familiar with the lakeside Rhoska Farm?”

  Alexey nodded while hiding his uncertainty. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “Good. Your father was well-known for his ability to persuade.” His smirk was perpetual. “The Rhoska farmers have not donated enough provisions to their protectors. If you want to join Her ranks, make like your father and persuade those Rhoskan misers to give Her the harvest she needs.”

  Volkov was drinking fine Winterland wine and eating fresh bread and several plates of beef from the table he was sitting at before. Alexey forced himself not to voice his inner dialogue.

  “Just more food?” Alexey asked meekly.

  “Food, water, clothing, gold, silver, whatever they possess that the Winterguard is in need of.” Volkov’s smirk had fully burned itself into Alexey’s mind. “I’ll send Captain Petrenko, Sergeant Stasov, and perhaps a few other men with you as support. You’ll be given horses to represent the strength and might of the Winterguard. Accomplish this task, and you’ll not only be enlisted as a true Winterguardsman, you’ll see rewards beyond that.”

  “Of course, Arch-Senator.” Alexey spoke anything but emphatically. He could not figure out how to appear as enthusiastic as he believed he needed to be, but forced himself not to turn negative, upset his superiors, and see himself, Anton, and Viktor dead.

  “Petrenko,” Volkov said plainly, snapping his fingers. Petrenko stood up, then he turned back towards the curtains. “Sergeant!” he bellowed. Within less than a second, the curtains were thrust open, Sergeant Stasov ran inside, and he pushed his way past the surviving recruits to Volkov.

  “Yes, Arch-Senator?”

  “Get these men a horse each and bring a few of your own. Petrenko will join you as you support Alexey here in gathering provisions from the Rhoska Farm.”

  “Understood,” said Stasov.

  “Alexey. I forbid you to fail,” said Volkov.

  Forbid? “Yes, Arch-Senator,” Alexey replied softly.

  Volkov went back to his seat, continuing to enjoy his meal. Alexey’s stomach grumbled as the aromas of fresh bread and beef filled his nose.

  “Men!” Petrenko had already stood up and was currently walking over to the surviving recruits and the Sergeant. “Let us not waste time. I know you are tired from your march, but you have not earned rest until those provisions are in the Winterguard’s possession.”

  Alexey, Viktor, and Anton nodded weakly and silently. Petrenko pushed his way through them to the curtains and swiftly exited the tent.

  “Move,” the Sergeant ordered.

  Alexey quickly ran out of the tent, scanning the area for which direction Petrenko had walked in. Left. He quickly jogged to catch up, Anton, Viktor, and the
Sergeant shortly behind.

  “Three horsemen!” Petrenko shouted.

  The words were simple enough, but the Guardsmen understood. Three fully armored Guardsmen ran from different spots to walk up beside the Captain.

  “Sir?” one of them asked.

  “We’re going to Rhoska. All you gotta do is look tough for the farmers. We need someone to look intimidating to compensate for this lot,” said Petrenko.

  The soldier nodded and silently walked along with the group. They reached the stables within a minute.

  “Eight horses, now!” Petrenko shouted at the stablemen.

  The men at the stables quickly got to work readying the horses. They unfastened the reins from the posts and gates, then either walked a horse over or motioned the men forward: whatever was most efficient.

  “Come here,” a different stableman said, gesturing to Alexey. He grabbed Alexey’s shoulder, gently pulling him aside. “You do know how to ride a horse, right? I can give you a quick lesson.”

  “Thanks, but I did a little horseback riding in my youth.” Is he being genuine? It feels like he is, but he is still a Winterguardsmen, Alexey thought.

  The stableman nodded humbly, clearing the way for Alexey to climb from the stirrups and onto the horse’s back. He took a moment to settle in to the saddle, putting his feet into a comfortable spot, and taking the reins from the stableman’s hand.

  “He’s a good animal. Responsive and sure-footed on the ice. He’ll treat you well, so long as you do the same for him,” the stableman informed, seemingly slightly forlorn.

  He cares for the horse… Alexey felt bad. He understood the connection people had with their horses. Many took it lightly, but no matter what would happen at Rhoska, or with the Winterguard, he would treat the horse like his own. He thanked the stableman for the information, lightly kicked the horse, and began trotting away with Petrenko’s group.

  “Stay close!” Petrenko bellowed. His horse was already forty feet away, galloping away impatiently as everyone else struggled to maintain pace with him.