“I don’t think suicide is an act of cowardice nor do I feel it is selfish. To choose when one exits this world is one of the only genuine freedoms we have.”
Luther let out a gruff laugh. “Ha! I’m impressed, child, you truly must be of Ira’s genetic heritage. You should come to some of our meetings. I feel they are the perfect place for a young progressive such as yourself. Memphis!” he shouted abruptly to the enormous man on his right-hand side. “Give the lad a treat.”
The man reached inside his pocket, then handed a single wrapped sweet to Ednon. He wanted to tell the man to take his offering and shove it, but managed to stop himself. “Thank you,” he said, through gritted teeth.
Luther placed a hand upon his shoulder; despite the warm weather, it was surprisingly cold to the touch. “Do not fret, lad, for one day soon the suns shall both rise, illuminating the darkness – and the new age shall be ushered in; as our dissonance reaches its most violent and bloody it shall come, and then a glorious light shall engulf these lands, curing all of our collective sorrow.” Luther gestured to the two men beside him and together they silently walked past. Ednon watched as they moved further away. Still with gritted teeth, he tossed the sweet to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Abacus asked.
“I don’t like what he said about Ira. My grandfather was not a coward.”
“Luther has always had a forward way of speaking, I am sure he did not mean it like that. He is a very important man within Asterleigh. When the time comes, we will need men such as him to be on our side.”
“Side? A side in what?”
Abacus studied him thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should take you to one of our next meetings. There will be plenty of chances after we move to our new home in Asterleigh.”
“You don’t have to go through all that trouble just for my benefit, Abacus…”
“Don’t worry about it, Ednon. It would not be right for you to remain living so close to your old home, considering what has happened. Plus, I feel it is time my wife, daughter and I left our small cottage and traded it in for a larger home.”
Ednon did not know how he felt about moving to the capital. He had always enjoyed the grassy meadows and rural areas, but if Abacus’s heart was set on the move, he had no right to try and change it. He nostalgically scanned the vast sunlit meadows, cottages and farms. He liked it here, he did not want to leave, not in the slightest.
“When do you think we will go?” he asked, fearing the answer.
“As soon as the funeral is over, my wife and I will begin house-hunting…” Abacus stopped himself. “That is, of course, if it’s okay with you?”
Ednon did not answer. Standing on the high hilltop next to the cemetery, he merely continued to look out over the seemingly never-ending meadows to the south, west and east, and then to the outskirts of Asterleigh and its stone walls of resistance keeping it ever inviolable. From where he stood, he could also see the Medzu statue upon its clouds over the mountains to the north, like an ever-present sentry being on constant guard over the city. Even from this distance, it was a sight to behold. For so long now he had felt as if he were in a trance, as if his life was no longer his. The dreams and visions were starting to feel more palpable than life itself; he often found himself questioning what was real and what was only fantasy, but he no longer cared, because it did not matter – because nothing mattered.
Feelings and scattered thoughts that did not seem a part of him were now the only things that felt real. Is it all a dream – all of it? If it were a dream, he would very much like to wake up soon. He missed so much. He ached so much and now he hurt so much. When he placed his head down to sleep each night, he could swear he saw the shadows taking shape. Then, when he slept, he dreamt of nothing but stars – just endless stars over and over, bright and alluring, sad and profound and all utterly meaningless. He did not want to be here anymore – upon the ground, with his anguish. Will the dream end soon, Ira? Much like yours did, if of course you were ever truly real to begin with. Or will it last for eternity? Will sadness and death always be stalking behind, or will they finally leave when I bask within the cavern of the far-off cosmos, isolated and shining like the brightest of stars?
“Ed?” Abacus gently touched his shoulder. It felt real. The breeze caressed him gently; it too felt real. He heard hummingbirds chirping and the trees lightly rustling – but he was still not convinced.
“It’s not real,” Ednon said mindlessly, as if something extraordinary had caught his eye in the far-off distance.
“What isn’t?”
“Everything…” he murmured, before walking his way through the cemetery gates.
The ceremony had begun; he felt all eyes upon him as he sat in the front row with Abacus and his wife Jernett. She was a kind and loving woman who had tried to make Ednon feel as welcome as possible ever since he had moved into their home and intruded into her family. She was always offering food and carried with her a constant smile, much as Amelia did, but he did not feel as if he belonged, because they weren’t his real family. The only family he had left was his older brother, who was too preoccupied with feeding the anger inside himself to ever truly care for him. He felt very much alone in this world. Even with Amelia’s warmth which, despite what his true self may have desired deep down, he could not return. Her face in particular stood out in the sea of mournful expressions; the bright-green eyes of her mother before her and the freckled face of her father. She stared at him with sadness. Right then, within that moment, he thought about what the shadow had told him of the world ending and a different feeling strangely swept over him. It was one of excitement. He wanted it all to end; nothing would bring him greater joy. There were so many mistakes that kept on repeating. The human race was nothing but a virus to the universe. Perhaps it was truly time for it all to end. He wanted to snap out of this line of thinking, but whatever had overcome him drew him back in. He placed his head in his hands and imagined; he imagined himself running as fast as he could, in which direction he did not care. He could run anywhere, the verdant fields were wide, perhaps he could travel all the way south to Lowton or even out to the border. He could, as he had been told so many times, ‘go to the forest and live with the Venians.’ He was sure they would accept him, from what he had heard about the species they at least sounded reasonable. Much more tolerable than humans had ever seemed. He was envisaging his new life, when he felt another hand on his shoulder. Having lost count of the number of different people who had done this today, Ednon turned disinterestedly to see who the owner of the hand was.
“Ed…” It was an old black man around the same age Ira had been, with a grey goatee running down far past his chin, and who was sitting directly behind him.
“Ed, my name is Fergus,” the man said in a soothing voice. “I know nothing I say will quell the inner turmoil you must be feeling, but I wanted to tell you that your grandfather was a great man and an even better friend.”
“Thank you, Fergus.” The man sounded sincere, which was more than he could say for most who had spoken to him already. The way the man talked and the expression within his eyes gave Ednon the impression he too was in a great deal of inner turmoil. “Had you known my grandfather for very long?”
“Oh my, yes,” Fergus nodded his head sadly. “For over fifty years. We grew up on the same street in Madale together. His mind was always one that was before its time.”
“You had known him for that long? I don’t mean to cause offence, Fergus, but I don’t believe I ever heard my grandfather mention your name.”
“No, he wouldn’t have… you see, we had a falling-out a long time ago.”
“What over?”
“What else?” The old man gave a sad sigh. “Women.” Sensing the personal situation, Ednon decided not to press the matter further. “It has always been a deepest regret that I was never able to reconcile myself with my once dear friend. And
now it will be a regret that I carry with me until the day I follow him into the great beyond… but Ednon,” he moved closer and whispered in a voice that could only be heard by them both, “I am here to warn you… You see the fat short man furthest to your right on my row?”
He peered down the row of people to see that the man Fergus was talking about was none other than the black-shaded Luther. Ednon nodded to Fergus silently.
“That man uses the name ‘pacifist’ only for his own selfish gain. In actuality, he is as much one as a starved wolf circling its sleeping prey. Be wary of him and the others who call themselves ‘pacifists’. Your grandfather always stayed true to his convictions – I beg that you do the same.” And with that, Fergus stood up, quickly making his way out of the cemetery. Ednon watched the man, contemplating what he had been told. His eyes then subconsciously fell back down to Luther, who was already staring back, matching his gaze.
8
Traditions of the Young
“Do you think Alpelites shit?” Syros questioned, shovelling up a pile of faeces.
“If they eat,” Torjan wiped sweat from his forehead. “Then yes, they most likely shit.”
Syros and Torjan, along with the young Freckon, had learnt from morning assignment that they had the unfortunate duty of cleaning out the latrines. Usually Syros would not have minded, but the weather was unbearably hot and the frustration growing inside him was not being helped by the suns’ rays making the already rancid smell even fouler.
“Why is there so much of it?” Syros asked despairingly.
“Must have been the mushrooms we had for supper yesterday,” added Saniya, watching the three of them while sitting on a nearby supply crate. “You two were out, so luckily you managed to miss the runs.”
“Brilliant…” He was beginning to feel anger again. He had dreamt of his mother’s face once more; that, mixed with the news that he was on latrine duty, caused unwanted emotions and thoughts to flow through him. He had forgotten what his mother’s face had truly looked like, but he remembered light brown hair, full lips and a glowing smile. But now he questioned whether these memories of her were genuine or if he had merely fabricated them. The only time he could any longer see his mother’s face was in his dreams, always lying motionless, the natural colour of her eyes gone, now complete black. Perhaps it would be easier for me to forget her, Syros questioned. But was that even possible? To forget someone in their entirety? Truth be told he could not remember what type of woman she had been, whether she was a kind and loving mother or a fierce and strict one. His grandfather always told him to try to hold on to the good memories of his parents, to help handle the grief he carried while growing up. But now, over twelve years later, he had forgotten most of his life before he and his brother began living with Ira. His father he could not completely picture; the only thing he remembered was bristly unshaven facial hair as he caressed it with his toddler-sized hand, and how it had felt rough and prickly. He did not want these memories any longer. They had become meaningless; they made him feel only emptiness.
“You going to help?” he turned to ask Saniya, annoyed.
She shook her head playfully. “Nope. Already done my duty for the morning. Narcisi, Petula and I cleaned all the cutlery and plates.”
Lucky for some, he thought as he attacked the pile of faeces with his shovel. The heat and smell were getting to him. He needed to attack something living. He took off his military top and threw it aside. From the corner of his eye, he could see Saniya dart her eyes to him whenever she thought he would not notice.
“Wasn’t Hurus put on latrine duty? Where is he?”
Torjan shrugged. “He’s probably resting underneath the suns somewhere.”
“And that’s fair is it?” Syros demanded. He turned to young Freckon beside him. “What do you think, Freck? Is it fair that we have to dig through shit, some of his shit by the way, while he sunbathes… probably laughing at us.” As expected, the small, timid lad did not answer and solely continued to avoid eye contact. Syros scoffed. “You’ve echoed my thoughts exactly, brother…” He did not understand why Freckon was so afraid of him. Was he really so much scarier than Torjan, whose arms were almost the size of the young lad’s torso? He wondered what he was doing here. The freckle-faced boy had next to no physical prowess; he could not wield a sword and generally seemed terrified by the whole situation he was in. It would be very much what Ednon would be like if he was put in this situation, Syros speculated. He is far too timid. What could he possibly do in battle? Just stand there and stay quiet. Could the small unsure lad truly kill an Alpelite? He wondered what Freckon’s story was, how he had ended up here in the military beside him, now digging up shit. Was it from loneliness or sadness that he had sought refuge here? Syros began to question whether he truly cared. He searched inside himself for a moment and found nothing, so perhaps he didn’t.
“Where’s Raynmaher?” he asked anyone who was listening. “What kind of military squadron is he running if a private refuses his order?”
If he were Captain, he would have Hurus severely beaten; he fantasied doing so, as he once again attacked the faeces with his shovel. He did not like Hurus. The way he made a joke of everything, his snide comments and he especially did not appreciate his laziness. He had thought he would find people like himself in the military. But he hadn’t. Most treated this much like a holiday and seemed oblivious to the fact that any day death could find them – a three-eyed savage death. Perhaps, like nearly everywhere else, he did not belong here. He reflected over this sombrely as he threw his shovel aside, refusing to do any more work.
Saniya watched him sit down aggressively beside her. “You know Captain Raynmaher… he’s probably in his tent writing reports or whatever the hell it is he does.”
Syros picked up a nearby bucket and poured water over himself. It was the hottest day of the year so far. It had become so humid it was a struggle to stand up for too long, never mind doing acts of labour.
“I know what I’m going to do…” he announced, having been struck with an idea. “I’m going to find Hurus and then I am going to beat him until his eyes roll into the back of his head.”
“Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it won’t end well…”
“What would you do, if you were in my position?”
“I would probably beat him until he cries for his mother,” she said, giving him a grin.
“Then why can’t I?” he said, not returning one back to her.
“Because I know you and I know it will probably end up being more than a punch.” She shifted closer towards him. “Just calm down for a moment and stay here… with me?”
Syros recoiled quickly, before she could touch him. He still did not like human contact, even after the time they had shared the previous night. That moment had felt more like a dream than it had real life. As though some imposter was in control of his body for one brief flash underneath the moonlight, forcing him to have thoughts and emotions he would normally never hold. Although the occasion itself had felt the most real thing he had ever experienced, it still did not seem like him, as if he had observed it from some place that was not his own darkened mind. But with the suns-rise came a different mindset, and he felt the all too familiar gloom consume him; but mostly it was indifference that clutched onto him, much like a toddler refusing to let go of its favourite toy. Despite this, he felt a deep sadness to see the dejected expression in her eyes as he selfishly jilted away from her act of affection, and for that he was truly sorry.
“I’ve got something important to do…” he said, standing up, having remembered the new quest he had undertaken.
“Don’t do anything stupid!” Torjan shouted after him, as Syros walked away, the foul smell of faeces following his every movement.
He made his way through camp. Most were already up doing their own odd jobs. They quickly
turned away after they saw the expression of rage across his face. If he were to find Hurus he knew exactly where he would be. He proceeded to the outskirts of the camp and onto the blossoming meadows where, as expected, Hurus was lying on the grass chatting with the lanky Steph and Petula. They both glanced up at him nervously and muttered something quietly. Hurus stared upwards.
“Why is your top off? And why do you smell like shit?”
“Oh, you know…” Syros stood over him, trying to sound and act as intimidating as possible. “I was doing the job that you were supposed to be doing as well.”
“Rolling around in faeces?” Hurus guffawed, seeking backing from the others, who did not return his laugh.
“Shovelling it actually. Didn’t you hear Raynmaher read out the duties this morning?”
Hurus sent an absent look back. “I don’t really pay much attention to whatever Raynmaher says, to be honest with you.” Noticing the expression of rage across Syros’s face, he continued, “But if you want me to help, then yeah, why not?”
“Good… We going then?”
“Hold your horses. I was in the middle of a conversation. Didn’t your mother ever teach you patience?”
These words made something snap within Syros. All the aggression that had built up for over a month had reached boiling point; he could not contain it any longer. “Stand up,” he demanded. He was proud it came across like a threat, because that was exactly how he had intended it.
To Tame the Sentry Being Page 8