by Marc Watson
With her time at work ending and her duties at her home calling, they said their sweet goodbyes and agreed that another meeting between them would not be something they would be averse to. She had given him the note he held now on the mountainside as she kissed his cheek and almost floated away down the street.
Aryu and Johan left the town soon after, that second fateful meeting never coming. His fear, at last, overcame him despite his best efforts. He had convinced himself that she was already too perfect for him, that this one moment was enough.
Unknown to him, she wouldn't have cared about the wings. Love, even so early blooming, sees only challenges, never barriers. Perhaps had he stayed, both of their lives would have been different. She, saddened by his failure to appear that night, cast herself into a pit of her own malaise and foolishness, which, thanks to her kind nature, she would overcome in less than a day.
Aryu, on the other hand, may have never had to deal with the strife and hardships that shortly awaited him. It is best to know this now that these things were close at hand and terrible in nature.
All due to fear of truth, love, and acceptance ingrained in him by classmates since his youth.
“More poetry by moonlight?” he read again and again.
Children can be so cruel.
Chapter 3
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Homeward and Duty Bound
The two awoke the next morning to the sunrise barely visible to the east. Cloud cover had moved in overnight and it seemed that rain may fall for at least the early part of the day. The foothills below were beginning to go from mist to low-lying cloud and it looked to them as if Heaven had swallowed the world below.
The prior evening’s reminiscence was short-lived. Each man agreed that a good night’s sleep should win out over an unofficial tradition. This marked a key moment in their lives: the first of many times reason of manhood outweighed the fancifulness of youth.
They packed up their belongings and trekked back down the mountainside. With their bearings confirmed they set off on the road that would take them home.
Even this early in the morning they were passed by many people and transports on this well-used road to the southern ocean. Some horse-drawn, others large and mechanically powered, generally by some rudimentary fuel engine that refused to die. The more advanced and cleaner methods of travel such as lithium, ionic, and cold nuclear were still very evil, or at the very least, unspoken of and taboo. The fuel engines were far more efficient than some in mankind’s past, but compared to the now-shunned alternatives, they were starkly primitive.
Aryu had still not revealed his mountainside find to Johan. Something in his heart had told him not to yet. It wasn't selfishness as much as it was a sense that something like this needed to be finessed into a moment, not forced. During the walking done that day, he'd come to think that should such a moment never arise, Johan might never even know he had it. A quiet secret he may just have to carry with him to wherever his post-Tan Torna Qu-ay life took him.
Aryu couldn't say what made him feel this way. Being a guarded person was nothing new to him, despite his often talkative outward nature. All he knew was it was the truth. There was a meaning to finding it, but he'd need time to decide what that meaning was.
Johan was keeping a brisk pace ahead of him, making sure to check back every now and again to see that Aryu was still there. Johan had known he was lost in thought ever since yesterday afternoon on the mountain. He had noticed the crumpled note in his hands last night. He loved his friend like a brother and thought him a fool for passing up that chance with the pretty mountain girl, but they rarely spoke of it.
Johan gravitated to Aryu at an early age, attracted to the prospect of having a friend even more shunned than he was. He didn't care about the wings or the stigma that came with them. All he saw was a nice kid with a big heart, sad eyes, and common interests. If he could carry Johan to some far-off place for a day’s adventure a little quicker than others, all the better. The topic of his wings was barely mentioned. By the time the two of them became close, Aryu had perfected the art of hiding them in backpacks and loose clothing, before they’d grown too large.
The two grew up studying things they both were attracted to. Johan had an interest in the more primal of man’s tendencies. Weapons and wars, battle tactics and historic military actions. The attraction of the classic tales of one versus many. And to a point, the past technologies (and mistakes that came with them) of the world they lived in.
Aryu joined Johan often in his research (the histories of which were very well-documented in books and pictures, dating back many thousands of years). Each child of the village was generally challenged to discover their passions early in life, so they may grow into a field as opposed to having one forced on them. If there were an inordinate number of children who wanted to become bakers or weapon makers, it was common for a town or village to keep one or two of the more gifted ones and “trade” other places for people whose passions would lead them down the path of a profession Tan Torna Qu-ay was lacking. It was a beautiful symmetry that kept the people moving and the villages and towns well-connected in a place where long-distance communication was nearly impossible.
It wasn't a surprise to Aryu that Johan had a passion that would surely lead him to the west, where the military of the areas was active and often clamoring for new blood. Just like Aryu, Johan wasn't so ready to forgive those who had done him wrong. Soon his name would be clear, but a lifetime of abuse does not disappear overnight, and rightly so.
Clear to Aryu for some time was that Johan wasn't just passionate about these things; he was extremely talented in them as well, the moat incident standing most clearly in his mind. A moat. Unbelievable. A word-of-mouth hold-over from another age of man. Yet he thought of it as a viable option after only a moment. That was Johan. Strategist, warrior, and man hell-bent on fighting his own war.
It was while pondering these incidences and lamenting the fact that very soon their two paths would likely cause them to separate that they were passed by the first cart of casualties.
They thought little of the approaching caravan. They'd been passed by more than one already. Large caravans powered either by an animal team or engines were the main source of transportation of goods in this part of the world.
They first spotted it on their horizon. Taxing beast and engine (they had both) to their limits, they moved quickly. Even on the well-packed and moistened road, they kicked up a fury of dirt and rock.
“There's a group heading somewhere in a hurry,” Johan noted, drawing Aryu out of his self-imposed mental stupor.
They watched the band approach and began to understand its size and speed. Traveling caravans in this area could easily grow to such sizes, but never went anywhere in a hurry. Sale and trade were their bread and butter, and no one would dare risk passing by a potential customer as they traveled the same roads.
Two men on horseback crested the ridge closest to the travelers. They weren't dressed as merchants, nor were their mounts of the questionable lineage and poor stock. They were clearly pure-bred horses: armored and imposing. Hybrids had long ago begun to dominate the stock lines as people, cut off from other societies, bred for their own needs. In this area, horse/camel crossbreeds called folmes were the preferred beast of burden. They were strong, fast, and exceedingly adept at the long, hot, dry trips the people of this land endured. They were at times ungainly and most certainly smelled terrible, but they always did the job.
These two wore the red suits and the dense plates of Inja Riders. Indeed, if this land had to be qualified with any kind of name, Inja was it. It was not a name generally accepted this far east of the borders. People this far away from everything but themselves often refused such qualifications. Names made countries, and countries made wars.
The head Rider could be seen pointing directly at the two as they stood aside. Riders were an important member of their respective brigades, and it was almost a give
n that they'd have room to pass, even here. The other nodded and began to slow. Soon, the lead rider was upon them, thundering past like lightning on land, his horse nothing more than a black and silver blur, its nostrils flaring madly.
The men were nearly dumbfounded at the sight, and more than a little curious as to why Riders were so far east and why they needed to speak to them.
As the first beast blazed past and was off again the way they had come, they turned to the second Rider now slowing to approach them. He waved with the standard military style, right arm snapped straight to his ear, elbow out and locked, then with a quick motion brought his arm around in a semi-circle, ending with his hand palm-up before them. “I listen, I offer” was its meaning.
The two men nodded back, tense at his arrival but knowing him as what he was: a friend to them and all of this land.
“Hello and good day!” he called down to them as he stopped some ten paces from the two bewildered faces. He was young, not much older than them. His light hair beneath his rounded helmet was cut very short, and his face was clean-shaven. Eyes bright and sunken, like those of a man with little recent sleep to his credit. The men nodded back, collectively mumbling back their responses.
The Rider apprised each of them and the pack they carried. “I'm assuming you are from this land, off on your blood-quests?” (An uncommon but still apt term.)
Johan stepped forward, nodding. “We are on our way home. Our year is over.”
The Rider noticeably firmed himself and nodded back in recognition. “My congratulations. It's difficult to separate the men from the boys on these roads close to so many homes.” They said nothing, simply looking at him as if expecting him to continue, each silently pleased at this new level of respect they seemed to command.
“I am Rider Stroan, cadet for the Inja Army and its people. I have been asked to inquire about your destination. Where are you from?”
“Tan Torna Qu-ay.” Johan wasted no time in his response. Such a direct question from any serving man of the army required no less. “Southeast of here, in the Valley of Smoke.” It was so named for the vast clouds of mist that once carried through it. Now, however, no mist would be found, its river little more than a stream and its lands hot and dry.
Stroan seemed to regress into himself, emerging with a curious expression. “You may be the most fortunate bunch I've met so far. I don't believe they've trekked that far east yet. Still, it's likely best not to waste time getting there. Who knows how far they've come since last I saw them.”
Confusion on each face, Johan was the first to put his thoughts together and ask the obvious.
“How did the Tiet Westlanders ever make it so deep into our territory?”
Aryu got the feeling the answer wasn't as easy and obvious as the question. His gut told him it wasn't anyone from Tiet before Stroan had spoken a word.
“Westlande…” he began, reading each of their faces, piecing together the puzzle he suddenly found himself in. “Of course, you've been in the deep mountains up until now, haven't you.” His face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. A man clearly locked into the task of giving nothing away.
“Let’s let the caravan pass. Its noise would likely only drown out what I'm saying. Then I can tell you what has happened.” With that, the road train crested the last ridge, still traveling at full tilt, and much larger than the two had originally assumed.
The first to pass them was a series of engine-powered wagons, each taxing their top speeds as they went, and the storage beds behind them full of what were clearly not merchant goods. Each one was full of people. Sitting, standing, even some barely clinging to the backs and sides; some with only a bag of personals, others with nothing at all. Following them were more engine-driven vehicles, mostly small farming tractors pulling trailers of more people, hardly anyone making so much as a glimpse at the two young men and Rider who were now off the road.
Engines whined, and folmes and other mixed breeds snorted past as they were strapped together in teams, pulling yet more trailers and carts at full gallop.
Aryu wondered what could get this many people moving so fast and so far from home. They were local villagers; he recognized their clothes and styles as such. Lightweight tops, wrapped skirts, and light pants marked them as people from inland, not even as far south as the ocean. People very much like those of Tan Torna Qu-ay. He looked as far down the line as he could, searching for an end to the madness. He was sure by this point that the Rider Stroan had something very important to tell them.
A cart full of women and small children, many of whom were crying loud enough to be heard even over the racket of hooves and whining engines, passed them by. The mothers seemed not to notice the shouting and tears, almost as if they'd given up trying to console their little ones long before they reached this point. Some of the calmer kids looked at them, pointing, fear in their eyes as they held their mothers. Exhaustion and fear were set deep into every face they saw. More than one person had their eyes glued to what lay behind them, something beyond the scores of trailing carts and tired faces.
Johan was shouting at Aryu, trying to pry his eyes off the scene, waving him over as he did so. “Any thoughts?” he shouted to him, confusion just as prevalent on his face as Aryu assumed it was on his own.
“It looks like they were chased away. They’re just staring off behind them, looking for something.” Johan watched some carts pass, noting Aryu's words as true. His eyes tried to follow theirs, but all he could see was chaos in a straight line. “What could bring the Inja Army so far east and force this many people to run so far?” Aryu hoped Johan of all people would have an answer.
“Nothing, my friend. Not one thing. The Westlanders and the Inja Army are far too entrenched to have it move this far, and there's only water to the south. Whatever it is, it isn't Westlanders.”
Fate has a fantastic sense of timing, as shortly thereafter, four large carts pulled by giant elephants roared past, each teeming with large, dark-skinned people. They stood in shock, never having seen such beasts before, and the people they carried and pulled were equally strange: Westlanders. It wasn't uncommon to see some from time to time, but never so many.
The end came into sight and the men pulled closer to Rider Stroan, eyes full of impatient expectation. Stroan only regarded them with a frown. Whatever he had to say was weighing heavily on his mind.
The last few carts went past. An old woman screamed hysterically on the back of one, legs dangling like a small child as she shouted, “There is no peace here! Save your souls! Your lives are already lost!” She looked right at the three as she shouted. “Lost! Lost to the hell that brought them!”
Her ragged voice died away, but her words echoed in the din thereafter.
The men looked to Stroan, and Stroan knew it was time. He dismounted and approached them. It wasn't going to be easy for them to hear. He had his orders, given to him by his captain. He was to break off from the caravan shortly anyway to spread word to more villages along the mountains. He may as well start here with these two. As proven men, they deserved no less. The cadet took a deep breath before beginning.
“Two weeks ago a fleet of ships appeared on the ocean horizon, spread out farther than eyes could see. Large ships, of a style and seaworthiness we didn’t recognize.
“We were locked in battle on Tiet borders. We were in the southernmost regions of Inja, directly on the ocean. Without warning the Tiet army we were fighting was obliterated with one massive explosion. It was much more powerful than any weapon we possessed, and there didn't seem to be anything they had that would malfunction. Destruction simply rained on them from the heavens.
“In surveying the damage, our troops were shocked and sickened by the complete annihilation of the Westlanders in one step, yet still had no answer for it. Then explosions hit the entire coastline, indiscriminate of target. Both Tiet and Inja armies were targeted without warning or remorse, and thousands died before we had any thought as to why.
&nbs
p; The young cadet shuffled a bit in his own skin, growing more uncomfortable.
“It had been the ships out on the horizon, and they were barely visible to our eyes.”
“How?” Johan asked immediately. “No bomb or other weapon can reach farther than the eye can see. Not without the powers of the Old.”
Stroan looked at him, saying nothing while his eyes revealed all. Johan, though still lost in thought, urged Stroan to continue.
“Not only were they the powers of Old, these vessels brought with them the people of the Old themselves.” Rider Stroan began to fidget, clearly upsetting himself by telling them this news. Something was scaring him with every word. “Explosions began lighting up the coast in each direction, forcing both armies into full retreat. They kept coming, falling deeper and deeper inland and chasing the retreating men with no thought to decorum or valor.”
The two listened, trying to envision the horror and destruction. No army they knew of would dare attack the enemy in full retreat. There was no honor or glory.
“They landed in the destruction they caused three days after appearing, their assaults clearly doing nothing more than clearing a path for their arrival. We attempted skirmish after skirmish, each a greater failure than the last. After a time of doing nothing more than repelling our assaults, they began their march north, and we clearly saw what we were facing. That was when we knew that we had to run…”
Aryu could barely stand to see a trained Rider of the Inja Army falter, but that was what was happening to Stroan. Stroan had his orders, knew his responsibilities, and was duty-bound to fulfill them, but this was his first true recounting of these events, and it was becoming more than he could take.