“Yessir, Sarge.” I nodded, heading towards the trees.
He followed close behind, carrying the double-handled tree saw over one shoulder.
I knew the Sergeant, one Samuel Perkins, pretty well, at least compared to the rest of the regiment. He’d grown up near home, back in Terre Haute. Before the war we’d crossed paths every now and again, him working the railroad and me working a barge on the canal.
Next to Jimmy, he was probably the man I knew best in the regiment. He was a good man, but hard when he needed to be. Like today. I was glad the backbreaking work was almost over.
“What’s up Captain Jones’ craw, anyway?” I asked him as we set to an oak, each of us holding one end of the long saw blade. “I asked him about the sorcerer attachment, why they were being none too helpful with all this damned wood, and he snarled like he wanted to take out a chunk of my flesh.”
Sarge looked at me, his eyes wrinkled in amusement. “You said the wrong word, Gord.”
“What word would that be?”
“Don’t talk about sorcerers in front of him, not ever. He ain’t overly fond of ’em,” Sarge barked, gripping the handle of the saw with both callused hands. “Now let’s get these last few trees down. I’m tired as hell and my arms are fit to fall off.”
I wanted to ask, wanted to find out if Jones had any special reason to dislike the sorcerers, but I had little enough time to think on it after that. Sarge heaved and pushed, growling at me to pick up the pace, and my questions and thoughts about magic and sorcery frittered away to nothing, taken up instead by choking sawdust and the crash of falling timber.
I went to see Jimmy before I headed off to bed, and he told me he was fine, in between coughing fits and wheezing breaths. He was bunked in a small home on the eastern part of town, near the river. The rooms were converted into makeshift hospital rooms, containing little more than sick beds. Cots were set up in several rows, side by side, most of them occupied by the ill and the infirm.
“Nah, Gord, you go on, get some rest,” he said, coughing thickly into a kerchief. “I’ll be right as rain soon enough, you’ll see.”
I cringed when he spoke, at the deep rattle in his chest. I tore my eyes from the wet crimson stains on the white cloth of his kerchief.
A doctor stopped by, walking through the packed room to stand by Jimmy’s cot. I thought he was, anyway, but it wasn’t until I glanced up at him that I realized he wasn’t a doctor at all, at least not your traditional type. He had the sorcerers’ insignia on his shoulder, a faded patch that resembled the sun, with off-color wavy flames radiating from the small yellow circle inside.
He gave me a knowing look that said what Jimmy couldn’t, that spoke the truth that poor Jimmy couldn’t or wouldn’t accept. The sorcerer lowered his head and shouldered me towards the door with a gentle, firm hand. I tried to avoid the gaze of the other sickly men in the room, tried to ignore the feeble moans and pleas for help.
I felt ill just being here. Like a cloud of disease and sickness hovered in the room, like an invisible ghost, cursed to spend the rest of eternity haunting the same foul place. It didn’t take a whole lot of pushing to get me out of that room.
“Save some damn Rebs for me, will ya?” Jimmy called after me, his voice raspy and broken.
Looking back over my shoulder, I gave Jimmy a confident grin, held my fingers up in a mock salute. I nodded to him, hoping he didn’t see the lie planted there on my face, and let the sorcerer guide me out of the room.
My thinly veiled ease and confidence dropped as soon as the sorcerer closed the door behind him.
“How many of them men are gonna make it?” I asked, my voice a low, forced whisper. “They all looked on the border of death itself.” Even Jimmy. I hadn’t known he was that sick.
“Sorry, soldier,” the sorcerer said, shrugging his shoulders. “This many people, packed into tight spaces like this, well, it’s no wonder disease and sickness spread like they do.”
I was starting to feel a little lightheaded, a sudden feeling of imbalance creeping over me, like the world tilted at my feet. Tiny motes of dust floated over my eyes, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision. My skin felt clammy, the hair on my arms springing to attention.
I shook my head. I was nervous, anxious, that’s all. Seeing all those pathetic men, and poor Jimmy, down with some nasty virus, that’s all it was.
“Is Jimmy gonna die?” I blurted, running a hand through my hair.
“We won’t know for sure, maybe another day or two, but we’ve done about all we can,” the sorcerer said. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my face. “You feeling alright?”
Oh, shit. “Just fine,” I lied, my skin tingling, now warm and red, where it was clammy just a second ago. “Just anxious, I think. Stressed. That’s my best friend in there, you know.” I felt heat on my skin, felt the pinpricks of sweat build on the back of my neck, on my forehead.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening. I was only in there for maybe a couple of minutes, right?
He didn’t believe a word of it, I could tell by the look in his eyes. Couldn’t blame him, not really. I never was a very good liar, and now even I couldn’t put a whole lot of belief in my own words.
“Just the same, Corporal, why don’t you come with me? Let’s take a look, make sure it’s nothing serious.” He reached for my arm with a slow, measured motion, like he was afraid I might make a run for it.
And if I’m honest, I would have. But an intense surge of pain, white-hot, shot through my arms, into my chest. My breath caught in my throat as fire scorched my lungs. I felt my eyes bulge, the world swimming, color drained into a murky whorl of gray. A smell hit me, like something burning, and then my eyes rolled up in my head.
I heard a far off shout, a gurgling, hissing scream, and then nothing as I slipped into darkness.
I came to in a haze, a flinching, insistent throb in my head prying my consciousness from heavy, menacing dreams that lingered in the back of my mind. I tried to open my eyes, but the lids were stuck together, like someone had glued them shut. Where was I? What happened to me?
“He’s ours now, Captain.” I heard the voice, somewhere above me, unfocused and distant. Confusion sent momentary alarm as I tried to place the voice. It was a woman, I was sure of that much, but I struggled to recall much else.
“What the blazes you mean, he’s yours?” A familiar voice. A name came to me, then just as sudden it ran off again, shattering into pieces when I tried to concentrate.
“You know full well what I mean.”
That harsh, grating voice. Again a name teased me, flitting away at the last instant. “Listen here, you piece of—”
“Easy, Captain,” the female voice interrupted. I picked up the faint aura of cold amusement. “Wouldn’t want you to say something you might regret. Remember your chain of command.”
There was a sullen, troubled silence, and my eyelids finally snapped open. I blinked away tears, the bright light of the sun shining through a nearby window. I lay on a small bed, the sheets damp with sweat. A man stood to the right of the bed, glaring across the room with an icy stare, his brow furrowed. His name rang like a clear bell, and right then I wished I’d just kept my eyes closed.
Captain Jones.
“Nice to see you alive and well, Corporal,” the female voice said.
Blinking hard a couple of times, I shook my head, trying to knock the fog loose. I turned towards the other voice, my head ringing with the slightest movement.
A woman stood near the door, her smile in my direction betrayed by the frosty glance she threw at Jones. Short, curly dark hair framed her face, and when she looked back at me her eyes shone, a sparkling blue I’d never seen before. She wore the standard uniform of the Union, loose-fitting gray trousers tucked into black riding boots. A long blue field coat flared over her thin waist, tied over her midsection by a red sash. The top buttons on her coat were loosened, revealing a white undershirt beneath.
My eyebrows rose in surpri
se as I caught the glint of gold on her shoulders, the twin bars revealing her rank as Captain. A woman officer? I’d never seen one, and never heard of a woman in the army, enlisted or otherwise.
She had another item on her shoulder, below her bars, another patch of insignia. I caught the hint of it when she stepped towards me, and it chilled me to the bone. The yellow sun.
More than a woman, more than an officer. Sorcerer.
“I am Captain Alice McCleary, in command of the 3rd Sorcerer Cadre here in Helena.” She sat down on a stool next to the bed as she spoke. “We’ve not met, but I believe you have spoken in passing to a few of the 3rd.”
A slow, uncertain nod was my only answer. I had no idea what was going on here, or why I was being held in this room. I felt the sweat on my brow, the wave of uneasiness from Captain Jones.
She smiled, as if she read my mind. “You’re wondering why you’re here, right? Why I’m talking to you right now?”
“I sure as hell am, Captain,” Jones said, interrupting my thoughts. He stuck out his chin. “This man is under my command, part of the 43rd. I’ll not have him be parcel to this…not with Confederate forces so close.”
The sorcerer didn’t acknowledge his demand, didn’t even look in his direction. “You may leave, Captain Jones.”
The order was simple, spoken in the calm tone of expectation. Jones’ eyes widened, to the point I thought they might fall out, and then his mouth opened. I’d seen that look before, the mounting anger, ready to burst.
It never came.
The sorcerer turned her full attention on him, her piercing gaze swift. Her eyes locked onto his, and I felt my skin pale with the force of her will. Her eyes, they glowed, a piercing glare that froze him on the spot, the color drained from his face. I felt sudden warmth, noticed the thin lines of smoke curling from her hands, from her nose.
“Now, Captain.”
Whatever spell she had woven over Jones snapped as she spoke, like time itself had paused in fear of her intensity, broken by her firm voice. He swallowed, looked at me for a moment and walked out of the room, his steps brisk and hurried.
I realized that I’d stopped breathing. I didn’t know if it was fear or awe.
“Now, Corporal Kane,” the sorcerer said, turning her attention back to me after Jones had shut the door behind him. Her features softened. “I understand you have questions. Unfortunately they’ll have to wait a while longer. Your body has taken quite a shock, and you need to recover your strength before we can help you.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, cringing inwardly at the tremble in my voice. “But I feel better—”
She rose to her feet, interrupting me. “No, you don’t. Not yet.” She laid a hand on my arm. I flinched, expecting the searing touch of heat that rolled from her flesh just moments ago, but her fingers were cool to the touch. “Get some rest. I’ll be back later.” She turned and headed for the door.
“Ma’am? I’ve got a friend, he came down sick a couple days ago. Real sick. James Charlton, he’s in the old Peters home.” My unspoken question trailed off. My guts told me not to bother asking, but I had to hear it.
“James died sometime during the night,” she said, sympathy written briefly on her face. “I’m sorry. Now get some rest, we’ll talk soon.” Her face hardened. “That’s an order.”
I knew right away I wasn’t about to disobey that woman. I laid back against the bed as the door handle clicked. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the swarm of questions and thoughts swirling in my mind. I thought about poor Jimmy, about the sorcerer woman, about her argument with Captain Jones. What was going on here?
The throbbing in my head eventually dissipated, but the questions were persistent and nagging. Sleep, when it came, did not come easy, or at all peaceful.
Voices haunted my sleep, whispers and gentle touches slipping into my dreams. My mind told me I should run, that it wasn’t safe, like a dream turned nightmare. The whispers and murmurs promised strength and power, promised answers as they chased me. They soothed my fears, prodded against my guarded mind.
The walls snapped as I let them in. They bored into my flesh, and my body sighed with the sensation, the tingling touch of life, the flow of energy. Warmth flooded over me, and I woke to the faint aroma of smoke.
I stifled a yawn and sat up, squeezing my eyes shut and arching my back. I sighed with relief at the satisfying pop. The dream already faded, the voices little more than a faint tug of memory.
“Feel better, Corporal?”
I started to smile, started to tell the sorcerer, “Yeah, you know what? I do feel better, a helluva lot better!” But my breath caught in my throat when I rubbed my eyes open and the room came into focus.
The voices, the pained moans, my sense of alarm and panic. I hadn’t dreamed them.
Cots had been pulled into the room while I slept, littered with the sick. Men retched and coughed, pleading for water, muttering for help of any kind. Foul odors mingled in the air: stale sweat, unwashed bodies, piss, and worse. I wrinkled my nose, held a hand over my mouth.
Captain McLeary stood by the window, peering out the glass pane. The sun had disappeared, fallen towards the western horizon, and the dim lights of the town illuminated the evening sky.
“They’ll be here tomorrow,” she said. “Probably attack at dawn, if I had to guess.”
Was she trying to get me sick? A vague memory stuck, of me reeling outside Jimmy’s medical room. Wasn’t I already sick? None of this made any sense. “What the hell is going on here, Captain?” I blurted out.
Eyelids of the ill snapped open, some of the men looking at me with dull, blank stares. I avoided their rheumy gazes and kept my attention on the sorcerer. She frightened me, yes, but no more so than a pack of dying, sick soldiers in my own room.
“Don’t you feel it, Corporal?” the sorcerer asked me, her eyes bright, almost feverish. “The power seeping from you, the touch of it?”
Truth be told, I did feel it. I felt as strong as ten men, stronger even. My skin tingled, the hairs on my arms, on the back of my neck, standing on end. I could hear a faint buzzing sound, like tiny flies hovered within inches of my ears. My heartbeat sounded like thunder in my chest. And then realization smacked me, jolted me like the accompanying lightning.
Oh, no.
One corner of her lips turned up into a knowing half-smile as the thought hit me. “That’s right, Corporal Gordon Kane. You know what you are, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question, but confirmation.
Sorcerer.
Now I had an idea why Captain Jones detested these men and women, why he sneered whenever they were mentioned. I knew where their power came from, the sudden knowledge instinctive and sobering. My stomach clenched. I swallowed back the nausea welling up inside. The sickness, these bastards used it, sucked it up from the ailing men in the makeshift hospital camps. The sorcerers fed off it.
And now I fed off it. I felt it, like the touch of a warm afternoon sun on bare skin. Like a hot bath after hours of toil and grind on the barge. It felt good. No, better than just good.
“I…I don’t want this,” I said. “N-Not one lick of it.” I meant it. I didn’t. I didn’t want any of it. Jimmy, the others, they’d spent hours, days, languishing on those cots. All the men that had died, without a shot fired, their pain and anguish fueling these sorcerers, lending them their strength. No, I couldn’t want that.
“You really believe that?” she asked, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile. I caught the sudden whiff of smoke, noticed small tendrils of fire dancing along her fingers.
No. These bastards had fed off Jimmy. My best friend. They had taken in his pain, leeched the life from him. They’d stood by and watched, and they’d used his illness, corrupted it into something unnatural. I wondered if I had helped.
The tug of power I felt, the surge of adrenaline, it smacked of betrayal. Shame.
“I know it’s hard to accept, at first. A normal reaction, and one I’ll allow you, for no
w.” Her eyes went cold. “But you will accept it, as we all did. It’s a part of you.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Trust me, Corporal,” Captain McCleary said. “You will when the time comes. And when it happens, it’ll come easy enough. You’ll call yourself lucky.”
I saluted, my mind numb, then turned and headed for the door, resisting the pull of the arcane. I kept my eyes off the infirm as I walked by, unwilling to meet their plaintive gaze.
“Don’t go far,” she said, calling after me. “I’ll expect you at Graveyard Hill in the morning.”
I didn’t look back, didn’t show that I’d even heard her as I closed the door behind me. Ignoring the fierce pressure that built in my gut, I kept right on walking through West Helena until I reached the rifle pits sitting on Hindman Hill, a couple miles out.
But I did hear her, and the sorcerer’s tone shook me. Her words sunk into my skull, the assured confidence in her voice. And the sudden want I felt, the itch to grab that power and use it, that shook me even more.
I couldn’t want it. Could I?
I walked the pits, the lines of trenches dug out in a rough semicircle around the southwest of Helena, searching for any of the 43rd I might recognize. My muscles still ached with barely contained power, so I had to pause every few minutes to compose myself, to hide the energy and warmth I felt rumbling in my core. I asked for the Indiana boys as I moved from trench to trench, and finally saw faces I recognized. The dirty, tired faces of the 43rd Indiana Infantry Regiment.
Gas lanterns hung from wooden poles, or sat embedded into the clipped, dirt edges of the pits. A few had been put out with the coming darkness, the moon and neighboring rifle pits the only faint illumination. And that’s where Sarge Perkins was, all bunked in against the reinforced wall of the trench. Him and a few others, their backs leaning against the wall, a couple of men taking the time to get what sleep they could.
“You look like hell froze over, Gord,” he said softly when he noticed me climbing into the pit. His eyes glinted in the spare light, the embers of his cigarette drifting playfully in the murky air. “Captain know you’re here?”
Lucky or Unlucky? 13 Stories of Fate Page 24