Groundborn

by Scott Moore

  It made Miles nervous. He jumped at the sound of everything. Sammy could tell that Miles tried to hide it from him, so he decided not to mention that he could see through it. So, with neither of them talking they continued to walk, Sammy following a few steps behind Miles. Sammy trapped in his own thoughts, unable to understand most of them.

  He couldn’t understand the concept of fear and death. Miles had shown him both tonight. He had shown him fear as he ran and screamed, he even trembled, but Sammy couldn’t understand where fear had come from. It was foreign to him, and yet he knew what it should be. Somehow, he could remember fear, but could not remember how it felt. Then there was death. Miles had killed the beast with his dagger, but Sammy wasn’t sure where the creature had gone. It had just fallen limp and stopped moving before fading away. Sammy shuddered at the thought, death seemed like something better left to men like Miles; men who had done the act of killing more than a single time.

  Sammy was almost happy that he couldn’t touch the creature. If he had, his hands would have been stained with death. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to cause suffering.

  Miles jumped again as a small animal ran across their path.

  “Shit,” Miles screamed.

  Sammy tried to feel the fear that Miles had shown. Tried to find something to fear, but he felt nothing. Just that weird itching in the back of his mind, the itching that said he knew something more than he could remember. They continued walking down the path in their silence, Miles twitching and full of fear, and Sammy numb to it all.

  ***

  Drenched in rain, sweat, and paranoia by the time they saw the outline of a town ahead of them, Miles sighed some small relief. Upon further inspection, the town ended up being nothing more than a shithole in the middle of nowhere. The buildings were warped wooden hovels, the fruits were rotten in the merchant stands, the people were downtrodden. For lack of a better term, this place was dirt fucking poor. Miles hated the poor. He hated them for reminding him how much he had lost. For reminding him that only months ago he was promised the world, and now he had even less than these assholes. Who were they to rub it in his face? Who were they to remind him of the land he could have owned, of the castle he could have lived in, of the riches he could have possessed? All given up over his pride, not wanting to kill one worthless little fucking twat of a baby. Who would have given two shifts in the long run? He had killed hundreds of men during his time. Had killed women by the score. Killed anyone who had gotten into his path, and yet he couldn’t kill one little bastard? He gave it all up for one fucking child! Bastards and idiots the lot of them, and undeserving of any sympathy from anyone.

  Miles almost wanted to pass the town right on by. He almost wanted to say screw it all and continue right on down the dirt path, but his throat itched from thirst, and his belly rumbled from hunger, so they moved toward the broken-down hovels

  It didn’t take long for the peasants to come out of their lowly existence to see the man in the leather armor. Miles could have killed them all without breaking a sweat. He could just pretend they were his revenge. Pretend that each of these pitiful souls were lords and ladies that had taken everything away from him. He could cut them down and laugh over their corpses, but it wouldn’t be the same. Not in the long run. In the long run, those who had done him wrong would still be alive and cozy in their castles. They would still be around to count their profits, diddle their spouses, and laugh at his fall from grace. He would keep the hatred in him, and find them someday, find the real people responsible for this.

  Plus, it wasn’t as if these people wouldn’t welcome death. The fucks packed into their one-bedroom homes, with families of five. They slept on floors in tight balls, smashed against each other for warmth and protection. They lived lives worse than death. They were nothing but tax money to the empire, nothing but work labor to the lords, and nothing at all to anyone else. Killing them would solve nothing. So, Miles kept his eyes forward and walked by them. Walked by the merchants selling their worthless wares, walked by the farmers in their torn and dirty clothes, walked by the women who would whore for a coin, he walked by it all.

  “You two gentlemen look like well civilized individuals, men of a certain taste, men who would enjoy my fruit.”

  Miles stopped next to the merchant stand. He didn’t stop to buy the rotted fruit, he didn’t stop because of the man’s sweet tongue, he didn’t need a mirror to know he looked like hell. Miles stopped because amazed that even here—in this shithole—the merchants were still fat as fuck. They still gorged on their profits, even in this back woods town.

  “I don’t want your shit,” Miles retorted.

  The merchant scoffed and turned from Miles. Easy to make enemies of men who only valued money. He could say the same about lords and merchants, and sadly the emperor of the whole fucking kingdom.

  Miles thought to topple the cart. He would be doing these idiots a favor. There would be nothing good to come of this fruit, nothing but squirts and rumbling guts. Yet, there were the small children huddling around the carts and stealing the wares. Not much difference here than in the city, and so Miles left it be. If the poor bastards wanted to eat this crap, then he wasn’t bound to be the hero to help them.

  Miles returned his look to the fat merchant. The site of a real grapefruit made Miles’ mouth water. The merchant had hidden it inside his own cooler chest. Those would be the wares he fattened himself upon, the wares that the likes of these people would never see. Miles could steal the chest. The man wouldn’t be able to catch him in a full-on chase. The girth of his belly made it almost impossible to stand. Miles clenched his fist, it would be easy to do, almost too easy to accomplish, but it wasn’t worth it. Another town that would hunt him, another set of people to hate him, and another problem.

  Instead, Miles looked down at the wares before him again. He wouldn’t buy these, and they weren’t with his effort to steal. Miles built the spit up in his throat and then spat onto the table. The merchant didn’t even bother to rise from his chair, instead he laughed.

  “They will still buy them, you do not hurt me, soldier.”

  The merchant was right, but when all else had failed him at least Miles had that moment.

  ***

  Sammy shuddered at the size of it all. There were so many buildings clustered together, all in one space. He marveled at how many people were there, lining the streets. He waved to each of them but didn’t receive a single gesture in return. It didn’t faze him though. Thrills bounced around in him and made it hard to focus on anything else.

  Sammy continued following behind Miles, who didn’t seem to be as excited at all. Miles had his head down, staring at his boots as he passed the horde of people. His face contorted in what Sammy would guess disgust would look like, but Sammy didn’t understand why. Everything here seemed to be amazing and new.

  Sammy wondered if Miles still concentrated on that beast in the woods. It would explain his brisk pace through the crowd. It would also explain his lack of interest in greeting what had to be the largest gathering of people in the history of time. Sammy tried again to feel some emotion about that creature, but found nothing there to feel.

  Sammy pushed it from his mind, he would ponder on it later, for now he would take in the sights of this wonder. They passed more and more people, and Sammy realized a lot of them looked tired and lack luster. He wondered how anyone could be so down and out with these things surrounding them. There were so many buildings and carts that he could explore for such a long time. It seemed to him only the children ran and laughed in the streets. He felt the way they did, with their smiles and their sense of wonder. Somewhere along the way it seemed the adults had lost their excitement.

  Sammy watched the children as they darted to and from the carts, taking the fruit and running away in laughter. The men behind the carts would yell and wave their fists in the air, as the children scurried away, but never did they give chase. Sammy thought it must have been some game the childre
n played, but he couldn’t be sure of it.

  Sammy noticed that he and Miles had both paused in front of a cart as well. Then without warning, he saw Miles spit onto the table. His face more stern than previously. Miles starred down the man behind the table, but the man didn’t seem like a bad man. In fact, he laughed causing his belly to shake looking joyous. Sammy stood stark still as the two had their exchange.

  Then just as suddenly the man moved his eyes to Sammy.

  “Are you interested in my wares young man?” he asked Sammy.

  Sammy wasn’t sure what wares were, but if he talked about the food on the table Sammy couldn’t bring himself to be interested. So many people seemed to be very interested in the food from all the carts, but Sammy felt no excitement.

  Sammy shook his head, and the jolly demeanor of the man changed.

  “Then get the hell away from my cart,” he said, using his hand to shoo Sammy away. Sammy turned and found Miles already moving toward a small wooden building. Sammy moved to follow him in.

  7

  The woman's request got him away from the hospital. It gave him the only excuse he needed. He wasn't ready to say goodbye to Earl. Not yet ready to admit that the captain wouldn’t make it. Most of all, he feared the reins. In a time when taking them meant leading the troops to certain death.

  So, he ran with the request to gather the council. Even if he knew that there was no way in hell, he would get another meeting.

  Nov decided a change of clothes would be his best bet. The dried blood on his pants presented more than an eyesore, they made his pants unpliable.

  The barracks were empty as Nov passed through. Everyone would be at evening meal. If any chance remained for Nov getting another meeting, it wouldn’t be tonight.

  Nov threw on a new shirt and pants, throwing his old clothes into a pile near his bed. Those clothes were well past a washing. He would discard them later.

  For now, he moved out of the sleeping quarters. Talking with the curious soldiers fell close to the last thing he wanted to do. Even in their aloof state someone would notice that the patrol hadn’t returned. Someone would ask about one of their friends, and Nov wanted to avoid telling them they weren't coming home. That Earl wasn't coming home. It was up to them now.

  Nov pushed back into the cobbled streets. He pressed toward the council chambers. The council would be at home around their tables. The meeting makers would still be hard at work. They all shared a small building adjacent to the council halls. A building easily missed in the shadow of the council's chambers.

  Only two men were inside. They both sat behind old wooden desks, scribbling their nonsense onto sheets that no one would ever read aside from them. It is possible that these were the hardest working men in the city, even if all their work went for naught.

  “Can I help you?”

  One man looked from their papers. His spectacles sat at the bottom of his nose, and he looked over the rims into Nov's eyes. Nov wondered a moment why the man even wore them if he wasn't going to use them. The man cleared his throat, bringing Nov back from his thoughts.

  “I am sorry. I need a meeting with the council,” he said.

  The man's expression turned sour, as if to say you and a thousand other souls.

  “The Council is very busy. By my records, you already had an audience this afternoon.”

  Nov knew the answer already. The Council did not see many people.

  “I have new information to provide to them,” Nov tried.

  The man shook his head. Then, looked at the papers before him. They probably didn't have a damn thing on them. Yet, the man studied them, as if they were the fucking words of god.

  “Can't help you. I am afraid. Only spots available are to those willing to donate to the city funds.”

  Nov sighed. Donation meant lining the pockets of the rich. Nov knew how the game worked. He wanted to refuse on principal, instead, he refused because he had nothing to give.

  ***

  There had been nothing left but to go back to the barracks and try to get some sleep. Earl fought for his life, Nov ran out of options to save the city, and his body felt like he had been in a morning long battle.

  If Nov had thought the weariness would help him sleep, then he had been mistaken. Instead of sleep, he rolled around in his bed till the barracks came alive the next morning.

  So, with a sore body and a fatigued mind, Nov got out of bed to start another day.

  The thoughts kept him awake. After his initial gripes of Earl, the council, the Groundborn, and the woman, he thought of something important.

  Willington Hamms, who just happened to be one rich son of a bitch. Also, a former charge of Earl, which meant that Nov vaguely knew of him; the closest thing to having a friend for Nov.

  A long shot, but better than nothing. If Hamms sided with Nov, then he could use his money to gather the council. The woman would get her meeting, and if she could convince the council, well they would have their war. It seemed such a silly thing to want. War! Why would anyone campaign for such a barbaric act?

  Nov looked to the walls of the city. How long would they hold? Would archers on the tops keep out the Groundborn? Even if they did, would the city go mad? No one left the walls aside from the troops anyhow, but there was an illusion that leaving was okay. With the Groundborn at the walls, the illusion would evaporate. He wasn't campaigning for war, but the illusion of life.

  Hamms’ section of the city glowed with pristine white homes and gardens. He had moved up to the rich district. He had yet to receive a fancy title, but he was well on his way. Nov passed a group of women in fancy blue dresses. Each held an umbrella over their dainty heads, to shield the beating sun. They didn't giggle as he passed, instead, they scoffed at his reeking presence. These women spent their thoughts on power, they only got excited for money and titles. Nov had neither.

  The barracks could have fit inside the home that Hamms bought with his fortune. Nov couldn't understand the need to have a home that large. What did one do with all the extra space? Hamms had come from nothing before winning his fortunes at the racetracks. His money doubled as he gained sponsors. By sponsors, it was commonly known that Hamms stole money from the less fortunate and gave them betting advice. He had helped a few win a small fortune, but none ever hit the jackpot like Hamms.

  The doorbell rang, sounding like a gong being beaten by a strong-armed man. Nov only had to wait a moment. The door opened by the hand of a large, lanky woman. She dressed in a lavish set of leathers, which were green. Hamms had always been the eccentric type.

  The woman waved Nov into the house. Another servant waited for him there. This time, a balding man in a green suit. In his hand, he held a small clipboard which he seemed intent upon. Another damn bureaucrat, thought Nov.

  “Appointment time and nature, sir?”

  Nov tired of being asked about appointments. Didn’t one person see other people in their life without all the structure?

  “I need to see Hamms about something important. Tell him it is a friend from his soldiering days.”

  No real friendship existed. So, Nov left out his name. If he got Hamms into a room, he could tell him about Earl. He could tell him about the Groundborn. If Nov led with his own name, well, it was likely Hamms would tell him to fuck off.

  “Name, sir,” the mini man asked.

  Nov shook his head, “Just tell him a soldier buddy.”

  It didn’t seem to please the man with the clipboard to shove protocol aside. Nov set his face to the most menacing smirk he could muster. The man nodded.

  “I will see if he has time.” He scurried off, leaving Nov with the woman in green.

  “Would you like to have a seat?”

  She pulled a small cushioned chair from the corner of the room. Nov planted in the seat and waited.

  The house bumbled around him. Men holding trays walked past. Women carrying loads of laundry ambled by. Women in pretty dresses, with no clear reason to be there, joyfully chatted w
ith one another.

  The house teemed with life. To Nov, it would have been too much. To Hamms, paradise existed in these walls. All the riches he attained, and this is what he had done with them.

  “Tea?” the woman in green asked.

  Nov shook her off. He had every hope that Hamms would still be punctual. That much the barracks had instilled in every man. Even those who jumbled at the sword still showed up to practice on time. Those who lagged answered to Earl, and no one wanted that.

  Nov sat so long that the lady in green, became the lady in blue. The sun rose in the sky when he walked through the doors. Now it kissed the tops of the walls goodnight. Nov’s ass went numb.

  “What the hell is taking him so long?” Nov asked. It seemed like Earl’s training had worn off completely.

  “Would you like that tea now?” The woman didn’t seem to give a damn about Nov’s numb ass or his patience wearing thin.

  “What I want, is to know why I am still sitting here?”

  The woman shrugged. “It was your idea to come, you have your reason’s, I am sure,” she said. Then, she passed him a plate with tea. “I suggest you become comfortable.”

  Nov sipped the tea and sat back. Sweet liquid filled his mouth, nothing like what he was used to. The rich had to sweeten everything. Nov put the saucer on a table beside him.

  Another hour passed, Nov knew from listening to the bell tower, before the man with a clipboard returned.

  “Mr. Hamms will see you now.”

  Nov stood, his legs tingled, causing him to hobble. The man leading him didn’t care. It happened every day here Nov assumed. Everyone worried about some prior engagement and no one cared about anyone else.

  Nov’s guide led him upstairs, which woke up his legs. They walked down a long hallway, decorated with extravagance lost on Nov. Then, the man stopped at a large oak door. He rapped on it twice with his knuckles.

  “Enter,” came the voice of Hamms.