by Samuel Small
“How are his injuries?”
“Nothing severe. I imagine I’ll have him doing deskwork in a month and back on full duties a few after that.”
“Good,” Leal said without emotion. He knew that wasn’t the reason for the General’s call, and based on his small talk, the truth wasn’t going to be pretty.
“It’s Führer Bellator. He wants to speak to you about the case.”
“Speak to me? The Führer? I get that it’s fairly high profile, but for him to…”
“Don’t think I understand what goes on in the guy’s head, he doesn’t tell me anything. He says jump and I ask ‘how high’?” After a pause, General Iroh continued. “I suggest you do the same. He’ll be expecting you in his office in an hour. Good luck, Leal.”
The comp in his hand clicked and Leal returned it to his dresser. The clock there read nearly noon, much later than Leal would ordinarily sleep in. He supposed all of this Purist business had left him exhausted and the fight last night didn’t help at all.
To think a meeting with the Führer was now being added to his ever-growing list of stressors. Leal removed himself from his bed and made his way to the closet, shifting through the garbs until he found his uniform.
5
Upon reaching the top floor of the administrative building, Leal Miles stood in front of the door like it had slime oozing out of it. He knew that Führer Bellator sat on the other end, the ruler of this entire country. Leal had spoken to him before, but he doubted he remembered. One hand on the pearl embedded doorknob, Leal could only imagine what would be said in the room once he entered. But it was a bad idea to keep such a powerful man waiting, so Leal turned his wrist and gave the door a firm push.
The room was as decorated as one would expect from the leader of a country, although it still gave an indication that the Führer came from very ordinary origins. There were images of his military career, him training for Arnold’s guard as a young man, several metals hung about, and even a rapier bolted to the wall which Leal doubted he had a use for that wasn’t sentimental. As Leal walked shallowly across the room, taking in all it had to offer, the Führer waited patiently behind his desk. After nearly bumping into it Leal came to a sudden stop, just then registering the Führer’s presence in full. His hair was shaved, leaving only a faint hint of orange along his scalp, and a purple cape rested along his shoulders, the edges white. Upon taking him in Leal shot up and saluted. “Major Leal Miles, reporting as requested.”
“Have a seat,” Führer Bellator said, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. As Leal took a seat, Führer Bellator scanned a piece of paper in front of him; presumably Leal’s file. After a few seconds his sharp green eyes rested on Leal.
“A veteran of the genocide. So that explains why Iroh picked you for the investigation.”
“Yes sir. I served under him, and by extension you, during all of...that.”
“Sorry, but I don’t remember you.”
“Don’t be concerned over it, sir. At the time I believe you were sneaking into the Purists village in order to negotiate peace. You were never really out during the day, so it’s no wonder we rarely saw each other.”
“Right…” Führer Bellator said, then looked out the window at his left side. His hands were folded in front of his face, obscuring his mouth. Only his nose and eyes were visible above them and as he stared out the window for longer than Leal believed reasonable, perhaps lost in the memory of those times, Leal considered speaking up but then thought better of it. A few more seconds passed and Führer Bellator’s cold eyes rested on him.
“This meeting is in regards to your current investigation. With the rebels already causing havoc our country doesn’t need any more distractions. I’m asking that you solve this case as soon as possible.”
“I understand sir, however I’m doing all that I can. There isn’t much evidence, aside from the fact that the perpetrator uses Pure Sol. The suspect I encountered wore a cloak that obstructed all of their features, so there isn’t much in the way of a description I can give that will help apprehend them. The only people capable of identifying him would be…” Leal trailed off. He knew the answer, but didn’t want to give it, for fear of being sent back there.
“The Purists,” Führer Bellator finished for him, his eyes downcast. He raised them to Leal, his pupils radiating like he had something to say, but he must’ve decided against it as he just sighed. “I suppose that’s one option. I’ll finance an operation for you to go.”
“Just me, too.”
“Yes, that was the plan,” Führer Bellator said. It seemed they were both in agreement. After the slaughter of their people over a decade earlier, it would be unwise to send a battalion of troops. Hell, Leal was afraid they’d perceive his presence alone as a threat. No, he was sure of it. The images of what could happen to him pulsed in his head and sweat began to cascade off his face.
“Don’t worry too much, Major. The Purists are peaceful people who only attack when provoked. I doubt that they’ll be nice to you, but I can guarantee they won’t attack.”
“Won’t attack,” Leal found himself mumble on instinct, “If that’s the case, then why are we here in the first place?”
Despite the words being out of turn, Führer Bellator said nothing, merely looking on with those same sharp eyes for a few seconds. Once the heat of his words sizzled out of the room Leal got up, saluted the Führer and took his leave.
***
Leal’s feet carried him across the grass, which the wind batted to the side in waves. He could see the hazy silhouettes of corpses superimposed on that grass, flickering and twitching, as if deciding whether or not they should stay inside Leal’s mind or come into reality. The village was just beyond the area Leal stood in now, where during the day the Purists would come out and defend themselves. Come nightfall, the fighting would end, only to start up again the next day. Leal gritted his teeth, his nerves flaring up and his body unnaturally on guard. He knew that was a decade ago, but being in the same place at the same time of day made him feel like he’d be attacked at any moment. Despite the fact that it was a gorgeous day, the sun hanging high in defiance of the fall weather, Leal hated it. It made him very visible, like the light illuminated a target on his back.
Leal reached the top of the hill where a single tree rested, the Purist village beyond those mangled branches. It looked like any other village, with ordinary wooden houses lining it throughout, surrounded by a large wall. But the strong military presence they held made them as powerful as any major nation.
As Leal looked around, he thought this spot looked familiar too. He’d been here before on many occasions. With-
“You finally showed up, eh Leal?” Jason said.
It was unreal. There was Jason, the same age he’d been during the conflict, sitting with one leg folded over the other, his back propped against the thick tree. In front of Leal’s eyes the tree that had been dead and devoid of leaves bloomed with pink petals that floated off in the breeze. Just when Leal’s awestruck lips were about to part with some unknown sentiment, his own voice sounded from behind him.
“Sorry. Major Iroh had me running around like crazy.”
Walking to Jason was Leal himself, only about 15 years younger than now. His eighteen-year-old self looked impossibly young, like a baby that had been stretched out to meet adult proportions.
“So what’s been new with you?” the younger Leal said as he sat down next to Jason, propping himself against the tree in a similar manner.
“Oh you know, same old. Just getting myself psyched up for the battle tomorrow.”
“I don’t see how anyone can possibly get psyched up for something like that,” the younger Leal said, looking down.
“Well it’s for my country so-”
“Is there no limit to what you’d do for your country? Nationalism is one thing, but blind loyalty will only lead you to ruin.”
“Well it’s not like I have blind loyalty. I have trust.”
/> “Trust?”
“I trust King Arnold completely.”
The younger Leal winced and shook his head. As he watched, Leal recalled his own thoughts in those very moments. The conviction he said those words with, I thought he was crazy.
“Trust,” young Leal finally spat out, jerking his head toward the ground. He looked off into the grass for a moment, then up at the drifting leaves. Leal jumped as his younger self seemed to look right at him, but that couldn’t have been the case. His gaze seemed to pass through him, focused on the village beyond. “That trust ignores all logic. The Purists are a peaceful people, always have been, always will be. Attacking them is ridiculous, trust in their aggressor or not.”
“But think of all the good King Arnold has done. The booming economy, the rise in education, the-”
“The Genocide!” Leal’s younger self shouted. Jason held his mouth agape for a moment, then looked down. Leal could see the immediate remorse in his younger self, who mouthed apologies that he didn’t bring into words before looking away.
Wait, I remember this conversation…
After a few seconds Jason got up, standing above Leal. He recalled thinking how powerful he looked then, how strong. His mere outward reflection made Leal want to believe his words, however insane they may be. “I know it sounds crazy, but the King’s just been so good to us his entire rule. I think it’s ridiculous that people think a leader as intellectually sound as him would snap at the drop of a hat. Besides, he mentioned something to me before he left…” Jason said, the light hitting him at various angles, making him look like some kind of divine being. To the Leal of right now, he was.
“He said there was some kind of conspiracy, but he wouldn’t tell me what, no matter how much I pressed. Leal, he didn’t want to do this. But he said it was necessary to prevent even greater harm.”
To adult Leal, those words seemed to affect him. He didn’t agree with them, but he wasn’t so blinded by hate to let them pass right through him, as he did on that day. He committed Jason’s speech to memory, thinking that it might hold some importance.
His younger self scoffed and stood up, glaring at Jason the whole time. “You’re just as delusional as him. Why would he go after the Purists and not the conspirators, if that is the case? He’s a monarch, it’s not like people have the option to say no.”
Leal had to agree with his younger self. Still, as he watched himself turn his back on his friend and stride away, he thought he was being a little harsh. He wanted to extend a hand out and call to himself. Tell him to apologize and spend some time with his friend. Charlie too. The rest of that day he spent practicing his swordsmanship, instead of spending it with his comrades, something that he’d go on to regret to this day.
After all, that was the last time he saw Jason with all of his limbs.
Jason began to haze into twisting, flickering lines that slowly lost their color. Just before his image was lost completely, he turned straight to the adult Leal, a smile on his face. Then he was gone and Leal was standing on the empty hill. The tree no longer sported vibrant pink petals, it was as dead as when he arrived. After taking in that death for longer than he should have, Leal turned to the vibrant village that was full of life. He inhaled sharply, then descended the hill.
6
The entrance was as Leal remembered it, although at the time he thought he’d never reach it. It was always impossibly far away, cast behind lines of Purists unleashing deadly energy. They all charged for that gate, aiming to make it into this very village that Leal now stood just outside and slaughter everyone in sight.
The gate was no gate at all. Really only a red archway that looked like the letter ‘H’. The rest of the village was surrounded by a wall, like most, so Leal didn’t understand the purpose of this design when he was younger. But now he thought he did: it was an extended hand, a welcome to anyone who wished to enter. And as a young man, Leal had slapped that hand away.
But he couldn’t stand in front of this gate forever, reminiscing about all of the horrors that were and could have been. So he took his first step into the village, his skin unnaturally clammy and the cold sweat never leaving his body. As soon as his foot hit the ground Leal felt immediately out of place.
On either side of the street were vendors selling their wares. Purists, based on their lightweight outfits, dark hair, and thin eyes. Those eyes faced Leal and upon taking in his uniform, narrowed. He felt the pressure all over him, like eyes on the back of his head, but Leal knew this wasn’t a trick of the mind or an illusion. It was happening, everyone who lined the grass street glared at him. He made a conscious effort to keep his head straight, his fists clenched at his sides, as he walked purposefully forward. His destination: a three-story building in the distance, which looked large and important.
Leal’s initial plan was to at least attempt to speak to some of the locals, but that was impossible based on the looks he received. So his next best bet was to talk to the government. He didn’t expect them to be nice, how could they after all his people had done, but he did expect them to be professional, given the culture that surrounded the Purists. They were well known for being an open and peaceful community, despite the recent violent history. The fact that Leal wasn’t attacked on sight upon entering was a testament to that.
But as Leal continued through the village, his rapier clanking on his waist as if wanting to assure him it was still there, he continued to dart his eyes all around. He looked into the window of a nearby shop, but he wasn’t focused on the contents inside. Rather, he took in the image it reflected. Three Purists, stretched out by the uneven surface of the window, followed closely behind him. Each seemed to be attempting to glare a hole into his back.
Leal picked up his feet just enough to avoid detection, making a beeline for the large building, which was getting closer. He knew that if he got into a fight here, even if the Purists that were following him started it, the whole town was bound to get involved and exact revenge on him. But if he could reach the government building before they took action the officials would protect him, or at least he hoped.
He was closing in on the building now, able to see the metal fence that surrounded it and the open gate. The red roof tiling shone in the sun, making it look like the divine sanctuary it was. If he could just reach that building, which had to be a government office of sorts, these people wouldn’t dare attack. And the people inside were bound to be willing to answer a few of Leal’s questions, even if out of simple professional courtesy.
Once he was within a yard of the building Leal broke out of his quickened walk and into a jog, reaching a hand out for the gate. As long as he passed through those gates, he would be-
The air filled with that scent, one that Leal was all too familiar with. The kind of presence that overtook everything just before a storm. Only the clouds were white and the sun shone brightly ahead.
Leal quickly leapt and rolled to the side, heat soaring past him. As dirt exploded all around him, Leal rose to one knee, placing a hand on the rapier at his hip and taking in his adversaries.
Three Purists stood there, all in the same lightweight garb. One had an arm outstretched to where Major Miles had just been jogging, the two others looking at this third as if he’d lost his mind. They then turned their eyes from their companion and onto Leal, then traced down his body to his rapier. Once they noticed his hand was on it, they took offensive postures, both extending a hand out. Leal was confident he could dodge one, but three? That was a little tricky. He briefly considered drawing his blade and charging, but that would do no good. All of the passersbys had stopped to watch the exchange and although some were shocked by the violent actions of their countrymen others stared at Leal intently. Do it, their narrow eyes seemed to say, draw it so I can kill you.
“Listen, I don’t mean any harm,” Leal said, raising his hands over his head and rising to his feet. The Purist who initiated the attack raised an eyebrow for a second, then immediately drew it down, as if
he expected some sort of trick. As Leal stood the man’s outstretched hand followed, ensuring that his death was imminent should his verbal skills lack in the slightest. “There’s been a few murders in the Republic and I was hoping for some as-”
“There’ve been murders here too! And now suddenly a Republic soldier walks in so casually!” The Purist shouted, his teeth snapping shut at the end of his sentence. Particles of blue light gathered in front of his hand. There wasn’t much time.
“Then we can help each other. The Republic has great investigativ-”
“There aren’t any bodies,” the Purist said dryly.
“No bodies, so disappearances then? We can mount a search party-”
“We already looked!” he shouted, the tiny lights coalescing into a ball that hovered in front of his hand. His bloodshot eyes tore into Leal, the orb pulsing in tandem with his heaving breath. At any moment he would fire and maybe Leal would be able to dodge it, but not the flurry of attacks that would undoubtedly follow. He glanced around quickly: a few spectators were opening and closing their hands, prepared to unleash an attack at the drop of a pin.
“Well we do have bodies, three of my guards to be precise. And the wounds on them are consistent with…” Leal hesitated for a moment, knowing it would be easy for this guy to take the words to heart. But at this rate he was getting killed anyway, so he’d might as well take the risk. “The wounds are consistent with a Purist attack.”
Leal’s gamble didn’t pay off.
As soon as the words reached his ears the Purist’s lips curled inward. His face flooded with red and the ball in his hand condensed. Not good, Leal thought as he leapt to the side.
The area next to him exploded and jolted out. His well-maintained uniform was stained with dirt, grass, and bits of the metal fence as he jumped to his feet, brandishing his rapier. Upon taking in his now battle-ready stance, the two Purists on either side of his attacker gathered Pure Sol and Leal could see through the corner of his eye that several others were doing the same. If he was careful about it, he could re-