Ardent

by Florian Armas

  “Our planes!” Dan shouts with sudden joy, pointing up at the sky. He taps frantically on his tactical console, and I assume he’s risking contacting our headquarters. “Nothing,” he growls. “They are jamming us.”

  Andrei’s head is still in my lap. I stare back with numb detachment at our front lines from where the planes were supposed to come; Dan is right. The moment I turn, a batch of missiles leave their places under the wings, and I follow them with the desperation of the dying man looking for his salvation: silvery fishes swarming the sky. Small at first, they grow with each second, approaching the hill, and spread out in a fan-like shape I saw in a medieval movie, some time ago, before the war. They look so beautiful in the sky. As I watch them, I’m still calculating the bloody probability that killed Andrei and not me.

  “Nooo!” Dan shouts.

  I don’t realize what’s happening until one of the missiles alters its course, coming straight toward us. “The probability,” I laugh like a mad man, embracing Andrei’s head. “The probability is so small...”

  Explosion. A red column of dust and hot air covers our hell-hill. My nostrils are burning.

  “I didn’t expect you,” an unfamiliar voice whispers in my mind.

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  My eyes open again to reflections of a dazzling sun shining from patches of snow on the high peaks, and to a sky deep and radiantly blue, in a place that is not the hell-hill. It’s not a hospital either. I am lying in the grass, in the middle of a meadow with coniferous trees here and there, surrounded by high mountains, similar to the ones around my grandparents’ village, yet unknown. It’s a calm spring landscape as lovely as a dream. There is no long tunnel and light at the end of my vision, no angels, no trumpets, yet it looks like the afterlife. I had the vague impression of some kind of tunnel. A hot and dark one. If this is death… I can’t complain, at least not right now. Flying high, a predatory bird reminds me of the hell I’ve escaped from and that bloody plane. Explosions still reverberate in my mind, and I have a brief impulse to check if I am wounded. My laughter fills the silent place; you no longer care about wounds when you are dead. Can I walk? Can I fly? The bird is calling to me, and I jump up easily, unable to avoid a surge of dark images of the many wounds I saw during the war – other people’s wounds. It was impossible to escape unwounded from that explosion. That much I know. And for sure, you can’t die if you are not badly wounded. When I half-turn, I see Dan. He is dead too, and he is definitely wounded. The lower half of his body is missing, from the navel down. Why is he like that? I stare at my lower parts, fearing that they might vanish in a blink. Everything is in the right place, even Andrei’s blood staining my trousers, small and almost dry rivulets running from thighs to ankles. Where is his head? Irritated by my own thought, I make no attempt to find it. With annoying pedantry, I observe more blood on my left leg. My fingers touch the canvas: the blood is still viscous, and I have to fight a sudden impulse to smell and taste it. To avoid my macabre urge, I check the tactical com. It’s dead. Who needs such things in the afterlife?

  “Vlad,” someone shouts, and I turn further. It is Cosmin, walking straight toward me. He is wounded too: a thin stream of blood runs down the left side of his face.

  That’s when I finally understand that I am dreaming, and I worry that, safe inside my dream, I have been badly wounded in real life. I shiver, and my teeth clack with a noise that sounds half comic. For a moment, I want to wake up. Why? Enjoy the dream. Or maybe I am too scared to return to a reality that might look like Dan. Or Andrei. Any moment I fear that his head will materialize in my dream, flying around me like the Cheshire Cat, all eyes and fangs. With unwanted precision, the memory of the explosion, which I am trying so hard to ignore, finds another way to resurface: the missile, whooshing as it falls on us, the blast, the hot dust in the air. Just a few seconds of a dark movie, repeated, over and over.

  It’s my dream, and I don’t care to share my knowledge with Cosmin, not even when he embraces me tightly.

  “We escaped,” he cries, his tears running down my face together with his blood.

  “Yes, we escaped.” I pat his back. At least, I escaped... There is no way to tell him that he may already be dead. Before the explosion, Cosmin was twenty paces in front of me, and Dan was a few paces in front of him. It makes sense, I glance at Dan’s half body. Where is Andrei’s head? I fight against my impulse to look for it.

  My dream has a strange clarity. Dan’s open belly is a grim lesson in anatomy, and his blood soils the grass. Closer to my eyes, Cosmin’s blood looks so real, and the spots on my pants too. Again I fight the urge to taste it. Disengaging, I glance around, still patting Cosmin’s shoulder. I can see many trees, and even see small branches and leaves. Rocks, a large river gleaming in the sun, delicate shrouds of cloud in the sky. The predatory bird is still flying above us, and my eyes follow it. My dream is strange not only in its content, but in the level of detail too. We have to bury Dan... I don’t know what significance that might have in a dream, but I feel the need to do it. With a sigh, I turn my eyes back to the landscape.

  “Don’t worry,” Cosmin tries to soothe me, his right arm still around my shoulders. “We will survive.”

  “Yes, we will survive,” I parrot his words, mechanically, with no intention of mocking him – a voice void of feeling.

  The burial is easy – we find a small crevasse in the ground with boulders around it. The hard part is carrying the corpse;, not because of its weight, after all it’s only half of the real Dan, but because we want to avoid losing some more of him as we drag hid body along. Sobbing, Cosmin prays, then mumbles something that I can’t grasp about Dan’s energy going back to Mother Earth.

  In silence, we return to the place where I woke up and find our heavy backpacks, but no rifles. At least it’s a peaceful dream. I shrug.

  “What should we do now?” I ask Cosmin. It should be me driving my own dream, but I decide to take things easy and be lazy. Such a wonderful feeling to be in control of your laziness during a war. There will be enough things to worry about when I wake up. If I wake up…

  “We need to figure out where we are,” Cosmin says after a while. “And we need help.” He taps some commands on his tactical display. “It’s dead,” he mumbles, and I do the same with the same result. Even inside the dream, our tools have been jammed by the enemy. Silent, he looks around, then up at the sky, still blue, with some ragged tatters of clouds streaming far to the south. “I don’t like that,” he points to the predatory bird. “It reminds me of that plane.” He doesn’t need to say which plane. Neither do I. “This place is strange, like a different world. I feel it.”

  Any dream is strange. It takes me a bit of effort to stop a smile surfacing on my lips. Why upset him? Then I laugh at myself. Even in a dream, I don’t want to contradict his strange beliefs.

  “The energy vortex saved us,” he says, thoughtfully.

  “Of course. Let’s move. That direction.” I point down the meadow.

  “Good idea. To find people we need to climb down. I am sure there is no war here.”

  For the moment…

  We walk in silence, and from time to time, we glance up at the sky, quietly, in search of that bloody predatory bird. Its presence rakes my mind. Our paths seem strangely intertwined. It’s still there, and I try to imagine its aerial perception from that high place. Eagles’ eyes see things in two particular ways. The middle of the eye acts like a magnifying glass, looking for details, which means for prey. The outer side covers a larger area looking, of course, for prey too. I can’t be prey for an eagle, I think, annoyed. I’m too big. Yet, in a corner of my mind, associating it with that plane, I fear that in a dream, an eagle is able to hunt me, and I may end up looking like Dan.

  “I wonder where we are,” Cosmin says after a while, his voice now calm.

  In a dream.

  “How far we are from the front line? They may think we’re deserters if we don’t return quickly.�
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  “What makes you think that we will return?” Deliberately, my question is ambiguous, letting him decide between ‘we can’t’ and ‘we don’t want to’. Can I trick my own dream? Unable to stop a sudden smile, I turn my head, pretending to be busy with the surroundings.

  “You know,” he says, worried, “even if we return, it will be hard to make them understand that we did not run away.”

  “Your vortex,” I say without turning, a bit more maliciously than I intended.

  “Vlad, do you really think I believe you when you agree with me on this subject? And if you don’t believe me, who will? The Court Martial?”

  I jerk my head back to him, just in time to catch his laughter, and I wonder if the real Cosmin is aware that I only pretend to believe his stories. “But do you agree with you?” I ask, curious and ashamed at the same time.

  “Yes, Vlad. There are many strange things in our world. Some of them are hidden, and some we are afraid to learn about. Portals exist. In the past we were able to use their power. Maybe some are still active today, but we have lost our knowledge of them. Maybe. I feel odd energy sometimes. I can’t explain why or how. I just feel it. It’s real. And on that hill, it was quite strong.”

  “Any vortex here?” I gesture around. “Do you feel anything?”

  “Nothing,” he says.

  My dream has outplayed me, and that has made everything more interesting. I don’t know how other people dream, but for me it’s like playing with a friend, waiting for a surprise that always comes. It makes sense, in the end; my dream counterpart is that part of my mind to which I don’t have conscious access. And my mind knows that I only pretend to believe Cosmin. Once, I discussed the mysteries of the mind with him, late on a cold early spring night, around the fire, vapors and words leaving our mouths like pagan mysteries. That night, he was the watcher of our platoon, and after a pause, he told me that I had a strong unconscious mind, touching Mother Earth – whatever that could mean.

  “Well,” I go back to the game again, “if we are far enough from the front line to prove that no normal transport could take us here in such short time…” l leave my phrase unfinished, to allow Cosmin enough space to surprise me again.

  “Do you really think a Court Martial will absolve us on such grounds?” Cosmin says jokingly, and for a moment I am tempted to tell him that we are in a dream. “Military judges are not famous for their logic.” He scratches his beard, like he’s trying to find a solution.“Run!” he growls.

  Sprinting after him, I turn my head in the direction he was looking, a moment earlier. Unconditional reaction is the product of camaraderie, trust and military conditioning. It has saved my life twice in the past. From the forest, on the left, a bunch of men bursts out, in the way that hunters chase their prey, spreading like the missiles from that bloody plane, trying to cut us off. They herd us down, toward the meadow’s end, and we have no choice but to obey their order. The predatory bird resurfaces in my mind like a frightening shadow. I have no time to check if it’s still in the sky. Maybe the eagle has metamorphosed into the savages hunting us. And savages they are, dressed in skins, hunting us with bows and spears.

  The long mound, ten to fifteen feet high, resembling a sand dune, slows us; then from its top, we scramble fast and slide down on the grass. For a while we are safe. Two arrows hiss over the mound, hitting the ground a few feet in front of us. They want to slow us down. I am slightly faster, and I hear Cosmin’s panting progress behind me. I adjust my pace until he catches me up. “Faster,” I breathe, and Cosmin nods, unable to speak. Feverishly, I calculate that the archers must be more than two hundred and fifty feet behind us. They are good, I think, knowing what I know about archery. The best archers a dream can provide, I laugh inside. Gasping for air, we sprint faster, and my backpack becomes a burden, yet I don’t think to throw it. Neither does Cosmin.

  We skid to a halt just before we fall over a cliff that has appeared abruptly in front of us. Braking hard, our boots stir the gravel, and distant clicks, of small rocks falling, echo below our feet: clack, clack, for a few seconds. A moment of respite; my breath comes dry, cold and gasping in my throat. A hundred feet below, a wide river flows, at great speed, between massive rocks. I glance back; the savages are coming at a speed that puzzles me – they could beat any sprinter in an Olympic final.

  “We have to jump,” I say casually. It’s just a dream. Cosmin is not convinced; for him everything is real, so I grab his hand.

  “There could be rocks under the water,” he says, hesitantly.

  “Could be… There are arrows behind us.” I point back to that certainty. “Now!” We jump together yet, in flight, our hands separate, each of us aloft with his fear. At first, arrows fly swiftly past us, whispering softly in intermittent cadences, leaving behind the mundane sensation of a surround sound theater.

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  Appendix

  Arenia

  Codrin, son of the slain King of Arenia and the legitimate King. After his father’s death, he finds sanctuary in the former kingdom of Frankis, sometimes using the name Tudor to conceal his real identity.

  Tudor, an Assassin renegade and Codrin’s mentor

  Ioana, Codrin’s twin sister

  Radu, Codrin’s brother

  Baraki, Chief of the Royal Guard of Arenia

  Iulian, captain of the Royal Guard of Arenia

  Gaspar, Knight, Baraki’s nephew

  Severin

  Jara (Stejara), Signora of Severin, former Grand Signora of Midia. She lost her castle to Grand Seigneur Orban after her first husband, Malin, was slain in battle.

  Mohor, Seigneur of Severin and Jara’s second husband

  Cernat, former Grand Seigneur of Midia and Jara’s father

  Saliné, Jara’s daughter

  Vio, Jara’s daughter

  Veres (Snail), Jara’s son

  Mark, Jara and Mohor’s son

  Aron (Big Mouth), Spatar of Severin (commander of the army)

  Bucur, Aron’ son, and new candidate King of Frankis

  Vlaicu, Chief of the Guard of Severin

  Ban, Chief of the Archers of Severin, Vlaicu’s right hand

  Vlad, born in Litvonia, he followed Codrin to the former Frankis Kingdom

  Pintea, Vlad’s brother

  Martin, guard

  Geo, guard

  Milene, servant in Jara’s house

  Dana, servant in Jara’s house and Milene’s sister

  Ferd, mercenary from Valer’s army

  Senal, Secretary of Severin

  Frankis Wanderers

  Dochia, the Fourth Light of the Frankis Wanderers

  Umbra, the peregrine raven bond to Dochia

  Valera, the First Light

  Livia, the Second Light at her death

  Drusila, the Second Light after Livia’s death, the First Light after Valera’s death

  Derena, the Second Light

  Splendra, the Third Light, converted Serpentist and High Priestess of the Serpent in Frankis

  Sybille, the Fifth Light

  Olmia, the Eight Light

  Chloe, the Ninth Light

  Viler, Drusila’s nephew, and Chief of the Men Guard of the Frankis Wanderers

  Mira, Dochia’s guard

  Irina, Dochia’s guard

  Arenian Wanderers

  Ada, the Second Light of the Arenian Wanderers, and the strongest Light of all the Wanderers

  Litvonian Wanderers

  Salvina, the Fourth Light, converted Serpentist

  Mared, the Fifth Light, converted Serpentist

  The Circle

  Cantemir, former Master Sage

  Maud, the new Master Sage

  Aurelian, Sage and Primus Itinerant

  Arad

  Orban (the Beast), Grand Seigneur of Arad

  Cantemir, Secretary of Arad and Master Sage of the Circle

  Panait, the second Mester of the Merchants Guild in Arad

  Delia, Panait’s wife
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  Doren, the Spatar of Arad (commander of the army)

  Vasile, Jara’s agent in Arad

  Long Valley

  Matei, Half-Knight and mercenary in Valer’ army

  Varia Matei’s wife

  Livia, daughter of Varia and Matei

  Damian, son of Varia and Matei

  Lisandru, son of Varia and Matei

  Boar, Knight

  Sara, Boar’s wife

  Little Boar, Boar’s brother

  Belar, Boar’s second Chief of the Guard

  Sharpe, Black Dervil, mercenary captain

  Valeni

  Agatha, Signora of Valeni, Jara’s aunt

  Bran, Chief of the Guard of Valeni

  Maxim, Bran’s right hand

  Leyona

  Leyonan, Grand Seigneur of Leyona

  Maud, Secretary of Leyona

  Vava, Chief of the Guard of Leyona

  Balint, second Secretary of Leyona

  Garland, Half-Knight

  Laurent, Garland’s brother

  Lina, Garland’s wife

  Farcu, Chief of the Guard of Leyona’s castle

  Dobre, governor of Orhei in Leyona Seigneury

  Deva

  Devan, Grand Seigneur of Deva

  Balan, the first Mester of the Merchants Guild in Deva and Sage of the Circle

  Mona, Balan’s wife

  Dan, Chief of the Guard of Deva

  Cleuny

  Calin, former Secretary of Mehadia

  Mara, Codrin’s Secretary and Calin’s daughter

  Mercenaries

  Valer, Black Dervil of Tolosa, mercenary captain

  Sharpe, Black Dervil for north-west of Frankis, mercenary captain