Burden of Sisyphus

by Jon Messenger

  “Keryn?” a musical voice asked softly behind her. “I’m sorry about your brother.” Victoria placed her hands on the Wyndgaart’s shoulders, but she brusquely brushed them aside.

  Keryn climbed to her feet, ignoring Victoria, and walked away without a word. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand, as she walked to her room. Though she began slowly, she was almost running by the time she turned the corner leading to her barracks room. She slipped past the unlocked door and slammed it shut behind her, losing herself in inky darkness.

  The cool door felt wonderful on her flushed, hot skin. Pressing herself against it, she realized she was alone in the room. Either Victoria told Iana to leave, or she had the foresight to leave Keryn alone for a while. She was glad to have the privacy to suffer through her heartache in silence.

  Staggering away from the door, her eyes moist but no longer spilling tears, she moved toward her bed and sat heavily, crushing the letters strewn across it.

  For nearly two months, she felt as if she found a surrogate family, like she truly belonged. She made friends and succeeded where no one, not even her parents, expected. Suddenly, she felt as if a new hollow was carved in her chest. Coldness crept from the void and suffused her body, leaving her empty and alone.

  Thoughts of her friends at the Academy were nothing compared to losing Eza. His support for her hardships was gone. There was no one left she could lean on. As she tipped heavily to one side, she let gravity pull her down to the soft mattress.

  As her face struck the pillow, hard plastic bit into her cheek. Jerking back, her fingers moved across the pillow until they located the culprit. It was the jewel case of a video letter. Even in the darkened room, she could make out the words Baby Sis.

  Her hands shaking, she wrapped her fingers around the case as if the message might crumble into dust. With great veneration, she pulled the disk to her chest and pushed herself upright. Sitting in the dark, she stared at the case cupped in her hands.

  Part of her yearned to run to her console and watch the video, but an equally strong part feared playing the message. She didn’t know if she could bear seeing his image so soon after learning of his death. Though her eyes felt dry and out of tears, she didn’t trust her emotions enough to tempt fate.

  Watch it, the Voice said. He would want you to know that he cared, regardless of what happened to him.

  Standing slowly, she moved as if in a dream toward the computer. Pulling out her chair, she sat down heavily and slid the disk into the slot on the side of the console. The screen flickered, first shining brilliant blue in the dark room before settling on an image. Play flashed in the upper left corner, as the image focused on a familiar Wyndgaart face.

  Having turned on his camera, Eza took two steps back and wiped golden hair from his eyes, which flashed the same vibrant amethyst as hers. Smiling, he settled into a chair and faced the screen.

  “Hi, Sis.” His strong voice carried through the silent room.

  A sob slipped past her closed lips, and her body shook. She rocked in her chair, barely able to focus, as the message continued. She was woefully unprepared for the emotional turmoil she experienced at seeing his face again.

  “We’re getting ready to go on a mission, but I had a few moments and figured I’d waste my time sending you a letter. Don’t worry. This mission won’t be that bad, just you’re everyday, run-of-the-mill reconnaissance. I’d tell you more about it, but you know the rules.”

  “Classified,” she mouthed, as he said the word, wiping away tears, not wanting to miss seeing his face.

  “I know I don’t get to write as much as I’d like, and for that, I’m sorry. Covert operations keeps me really busy, but I love what I’m doing, just like you.” He laughed. “Who knew I’d ever tell my Baby Sis I was winding up just like her?”

  A smile still on his handsome face, he continued, “I’m proud of you. I hope you know that. I know Mom and Dad weren’t happy with your decision to go to the Academy, but I’ve always known you were destined for greatness. I’ve talked about you so much here, I can’t tell anymore if anyone wants to meet you or hates your guts. If they hate you, to hell with them. They don’t know what they’re missing.

  “I got your letter today. It’s kind of what reminded me it was time to write you back. I appreciate the picture. It makes me feel a little closer to home, especially when I’m away so much. Once I get my next rest and relaxation anywhere near Arcendor, you better believe I’ll be on the next drop ship heading your way. It’s been too long since we hung out. Hell, you couldn’t even drink legally when I saw you last, though I’m not sure I’m all right with the idea of my Baby Sis drinking.”

  She cried harder, knowing he’d never fulfill his promise. On whatever random planet he went for his mission, something went terribly wrong. Eza was dead, and Keryn was alone.

  She clutched her chest, trying to cover the ache in her heart. The officer told the truth. Eza died fighting the Terrans. Rage boiled in her veins at the thought. They took Eza from her, and she would get revenge.

  “I’ve got to go, Sis.” He glanced over his shoulder. Other voices spoke in the background, and, from Eza’s hurried expression, he didn’t want to give them a chance to be on the video. “I promise that when I get back, I’ll write again.

  “I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Baby Sis. I’ll write, and, hopefully, see you soon. ‘Bye.”

  The screen faded to black, as Keryn cried into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The early evening was warm and humid, as Yen and Adam climbed the tall staircase leading to the Shrine of Initiation. It took them a long time to reach Lagurica in time for the memorial service. Since departing Proteus II, it felt as if all they did was travel. The Cair Ilmun couldn't reach the faster speeds of a cruiser or warship, so the journey from Proteus to the closest inhabited galaxy took over a month. The trio arrived worn and malnourished, having exhausted their food supplies during the journey.

  Had that been the last of their travels, Yen would’ve been content. Their arrival, however, was only the beginning of their responsibilities. They left Buren in the care of an Alliance medical team before attending a litany of meetings, where they discussed the newly discovered Terran threat.

  After half a year since the massacre on Proteus II, their interviews were finally finished, and they were reassigned to a new cruiser, the Revolution. Taking leave shortly after reporting to Captain Hodge, they both longed to be present for Eza’s memorial service. The journey to Lagurica was a long, necessary evil.

  Climbing the last few stairs, Yen tugged at his Fleet uniform’s collar. It was so long since he wore a formal uniform, it required extensive tailoring to make it fit again. Form fitting and heavily starched, the collar bit into his neck and left little room to breathe, as sweat rolled down his back and beaded his brow. Beside him, Adam echoed his discomfort.

  At the landing, they noted the expansive amphitheater filled with mourning Wyndgaarts. Though still dressed in flowing, brightly colored dresses and shirts, the colors were muted and dull compared to the strong coral pastels of the Shrine. As they found their seats, Yen and Adam were assaulted by floral scents that barely covered the deeper musk of burning incense.

  A wizened, old Wyndgaart walked to the center of the stage, taking his place among the tropical flowers and smoldering spices placed around the exterior of the Warrior’s Circle. Striking his staff on the floor three times, he brought the amphitheater to reverent silence.

  “Thank you all for attending this memorial service for one of our fallen kin,” the schoolmaster began, his reedy voice carrying through the crowd. “We gather tonight to mourn the loss of Eza Kai Riddell, a true child and warrior of the Wyndgaart people. In our mourning, however, we also commemorate his strength as a warrior, love as a son, and loyalty as a soldier.”

  The Schoolmaster gestured for an audience member to come forward. “Though I knew and taught Eza for many years as he grew, it would be
a disservice for me to stand before you and try to describe his many accomplishments when his sister is in the audience. Keryn, if you would?”

  The old Wyndgaart stepped aside, as Keryn came forward, her thin, deep-purple dress clinging to her curves, as she moved. Yen sat entranced as she walked, finding her every bit as beautiful as she seemed in the picture.

  Taking her place in the center of the circle, she began her eulogy. “No one ever gave more of himself than my brother.” Even during such a difficult time, her voice was strong. “To his family, he was willing to sacrifice his time to make sure we were provided for. To the Alliance he was willing to sacrifice his safety, as he volunteered for difficult missions time after time. But for his friends—they were the ones he truly loved. For them, he was willing to sacrifice his life to preserve theirs.

  “Growing up, Eza was always my hero. He stood by my side through every hardship I endured. I excelled only because he drove me to it, because I wanted nothing more than to be like him. He was my hero, and that’s why it’s fitting that we are here now to remember him as a hero.”

  Shifting her weight, she struggled to find the right words. “Eza and I grew apart after his Initiation. I feared that the brother I loved was gone, replaced by something new.”

  The crowd murmured disapprovingly.

  “I feared what I didn't understand. After a few months, he found me alone and made me sit down to talk about my worries. For the first time in my life, I saw chinks in my brother’s tough armor. The fears I had of losing him were reflected in his own concerns.

  “We’d never been distant from each other, but even when he had the responsibility of an upcoming assignment to the Alliance Infantry weighing heavily on his mind, he took the time to sit down with me. That’s the way he was. Eza found comfort in his friends and family and did anything in his power to care for them.

  “Though I didn’t receive a lot of support when I decided to attend the Academy instead of going through Initiation, Eza remained at my side, sending letters and videos to tell me how proud he was of me.”

  She cleared her throat and paused to regain her composure. When she looked up, clear determination shone in her violet eyes. “In the Academy, there is a phrase proudly displayed throughout the school—Shirath Esquideuz Pithyas.”

  Yen nodded, remembering the phrase from his time at the Academy.

  “Directly translated, it means, No One Is Greater. The phrase meant little to me when I first arrived. They were words spoken by an Avalon who died generations before my time. It wasn’t until much later that I began to truly understand the deeper meaning of those four simple words and the double-edged sword contained within them. On one hand, they remind us of the necessity of humility in our lives. Arrogance dooms us to failure. Simply stated, it means that no one individual is greater than any other. One of my instructors at the Academy gave me that meaning.

  “The other meaning, which I find more applicable when I think of Eza, was explained to me by the dean of the school. No One Is Greater didn’t simply mean that you must be humble. It also meant, as Eza knew all his life, that one person alone will never have the strength that can be found only in a group of friends fighting for a common goal. Eza found his calling and purpose as part of a team, and, until his dying day, he loved what he did and those with whom he served.”

  She smiled softly at distant memories.

  Yen knew his own expression mirrored hers, and he lost himself in memories of his friend. During her speech, Keryn captured Eza’s spirit and memory in a way that would have made her brother proud.

  “I won’t remember Eza the warrior,” she said in conclusion. “I won’t remember Eza the soldier. But I’ll always remember Eza the brother and the friend. I encourage all of you to find what it was about him that truly touched your heart and savor that memory for the rest of your lives. I know I will. Thank you for attending.”

  Yen watched her take her seat again, amazed at the similarities she shared with her brother. Eza’s confidence showed in Keryn’s warm smile and the polite thanks she offered to those who shook her hand. Yen’s hand went to his chest, touching the metal ID tags under his clothing.

  “Thank you for your kind words, Keryn,” the Schoolmaster said, taking his place at the center of the circle again. “Please join me in our Hymn of Remembrance.”

  The entire amphitheater broke into soft song, as nearly naked men and women filled the Warrior’s Circle and began dancing. The hymn rose and fell in crescendos that reminded Yen of crashing waves against a distant shore. The Wyndgaart dancers moved as if underwater, their bodies caught in undersea currents, as they writhed against each other. Each in his own way said good-bye to Eza.

  As the ceremony ended, and the audience began departing, Yen pushed his way through the crowd, eager to catch up to Keryn. Moving past the thickest part of the crowd, he saw her walking toward a rear path that led along the top of the Shrine’s tall cliff face. He hurried to follow her into the darkness beyond the amphitheater, where brilliant sunlight faded to a colorful silver on the distant horizon.

  “Ms. Riddell?”

  Keryn turned, her silver hair flashing in the faint, flickering candlelight. “Yes?” She arched an eyebrow.

  Yen felt foolish, realizing she probably went that way to be alone. In his eagerness to meet her, he blundered into her private mourning. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you want to be alone right now.” He turned back toward the Shrine. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “You’re Yen Xiao, aren’t you?”

  Surprised, he stopped and turned.

  “I thought it was you, Mr. Xiao.”

  Yen walked over and shook her extended hand firmly, surprised by the strength of her grip and the calluses on her palm. “Please, call me Yen.”

  “Yen. My brother spoke about you quite a bit in his letters. He described you almost perfectly. You can walk with me, if you’d like. I think I’d prefer to have someone with me than walk alone, anyway.”

  Yen joined her, as she walked along the sandy path. For a long while, they were silent, each remembering Eza in his own way, as they admired the dying sunlight reflecting off the coral.

  “You were with him when he died?” she asked, breaking the solemn mood.

  Yen nodded, unsure how to respond. “Eza was a great friend of mine, probably the best I ever had. He loved you very much and talked about you all the time. He would’ve been proud of what you said during the ceremony. You really captured all that was Eza.”

  Her eyes sparkled with moisture even in the darkness. She managed a soft, “Thank you,” in reply but couldn't bring herself to make eye contact.

  Yen reached out a hesitant hand and placed it on her arm, stopping her. Slipping his hand under the stiff collar of his uniform jacket, he pulled free the ID tags over his head and let them dangle on their chain.

  “These were his tags,” Yen explained. “Every time before we went on a mission, we traded tags. I wore his, and he wore mine. Both of us thought of it as a stupid superstition, but he started it soon after I joined the team, and we became friends.

  “He told me we traded tags to ensure we always remembered our promise to look out for each other. I felt like a thief, carrying his tags around. All I ever wanted was to finish our mission and give back the tags. It seemed crazy, since neither of us openly admitted to being superstitious, but I always felt an incredible sense of relief when I came back and could return his tags. It’s almost like he knew that I wanted to bring them home safe each time, just like he did for me.”

  Unable to make eye contact with Keryn, he stared out over the ocean. “I think, deep down, Eza also knew that if something happened to either of us, we’d always have the tags as a remembrance of our friendship.”

  Taking Keryn’s hand, he placed the tags in her open palm and gently closed her fingers over them. “I don’t know if he meant me to always carry those tags as a reminder of our friendship, but I think he would’ve been OK with my giving them to you.”r />
  Keryn squeezed her hand over the tags until her knuckles turned white. Though her jaw was firmly set, and her eyes glistened with moisture, no tears fell. “Thank you, Yen,” she whispered.

  Turning, they walked up the path, moving farther from the Shrine. Yen stole glances at the shorter woman, as they walked, amazed at her strength. During the month-long journey back from Proteus II, he went to the cockpit many times to shed tears not just for Eza but for the rest of the team. He even saw stoic Adam cry for his lost teammates. On the day of her brother’s memorial service, Keryn remained strong in the face of overwhelming emotion.

  Unable to stop himself, he commented, “You really are taking this well.”

  Keryn continued walking, but her expression became indignant. “Are you referring to the fact that I’m not an emotional wreck?” She shook her head. “Believe me, I shed my share of tears. For weeks after I got the news, I cried almost every night. After a while, the sorrow subsided, buried deep inside, replaced by another emotion—revenge. They won’t tell me how he died, but I know he died fighting the Terrans. I’m going to make sure the Empire suffers for taking away my brother.”

  “You may yet have your chance. You know the High Council is debating whether to declare war on the Empire? They’re sending a battle group to investigate whether the Empire has illegally crossed the Demilitarized Zone. If they find out that the Terrans have violated the Taisa Accord, we could be at war much sooner than anticipated.”

  “I know. It’s all anyone could talk about during the past school year. As a pilot in training, knowing we might be going to war, it made most other conversations insignificant. Many cadets dropped out before the end of the year because of that. They hadn’t signed up for service during a war and never expected to fight. It wasn’t in their blood, I guess.”