“Down! On your fucking face! Female!” Renast shouted to allow everyone to hear.
Brisethi dropped to push-up position, holding back an annoyed groan.
“One-two-three!” he began the four-count exercise where two pushups only counted as one.
“One!” she hastily replied lest he speed up the count.
“One-two-three!”
“Two!” she counted off. Before she could even reach the number thirty, her arms were giving out. Sweat poured down her face, with the remaining paint mixing in and stinging her eyes. Some recruits gathered to stare, while others walked away in fear they would be told to join her.
“I said, two!” Renast repeated. “Give me number forty!”
Brisethi refused. The failed muscles in her chest and arms would not oblige. She planted her face in the dirt and grass, breathing heavily from her fast-pacing heart. She said nothing even as the chief kept screaming at her.
“Looks like we only got three corporals tonight!” Renast snickered, standing over the defeated recruit.
“Chief, that’s enough,” Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen scolded as he helped Brisethi to stand. He would ensure she stood in the middle of the circle the division was forming to take part in the promotion ceremony. He guided her to stand between Antuni and Etyne but behind Kanilas with their backs all to one another to face the division.
Master Chief Synsun began the ceremony by stating the Dominion Creed. Captain Tallien then tacked each new corporal in the chest their metal pin of a four pointed star and a pointed curve beneath it, representing their new rank.
When the ceremony concluded, Brisethi was ready to collapse.
-:- -:- -:-
“We’ll set up camp here,” Captain Tallien stated to Master Chief Synsun. “Chief Renast and his scouts should return before morning with news of Division Thirty-Nine. Have the recruits prepare evening meal once the camp is set up. Do not let a word of this get out to them.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Synsun replied. He briskly walked away and shouted orders to set up camp. The recruits sighed with relief. They had marched into the early evening that day to make up time lost for an extended training session.
“I thought we were meeting up with Division Thirty-Nine?” Brisethi Sen Asel whispered to Korteni Pyraz as they began to unload the wagons.
She shrugged. “Etyne said he overheard Captain earlier questioning Master Chief about the exact location. I think we’re lost,” she chuckled.
“Who’s Etyne?” Brisethi had trouble keeping up with the amount of friends Korteni had acquired in the division over the past few months.
“Etyne Vorsen, the half-Kiaran one, how can you forget?” Korteni laid their tent across the ground, waiting for Brisethi to hand her the ropes.
“Ah, the dreamy one,” Ibrienne Sestas chimed in as she helped with pitching the tent.
Brisethi shrugged, “Oh, Corporal Vorsen, I didn’t know his first name.”
“Do you even remember my first name?” Korteni teased. She waited for Brisethi to pound in the poles they would attach their six-person canvas tent to.
Ibrienne Sestas helped prop their tent up, “I was his combat partner once. It was the only time we had any kind of conversation, and he was so friendly-“
“I’m sorry, are you two still going on about Corporal Vorsen?” Brisethi interrupted.
“Maybe – how come you never tell us about anyone you like, Sen Asel?” Ibrienne innocently asked
She intentionally ignored the childish question only because there were more important matters to be discussed. “Anyways, I doubt we’re lost," Brisethi said. "They use this same route every expedition.” She lowered her voice. “I think something happened with the other division. Chief Renast took Corporal Trenn and a few other recruits with him to scout.”
Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen had explained to the Corporals that a division integrates with another one during the first and second year of the expedition due to the crossing of the paths. Except this time, the division they were supposed to meet with had not shown up.
Brisethi’s heart sank when she realized it had already been almost a year since the day she enlisted into the Resarian Dominion Military. She hadn’t even replied to her mother’s last letter in three months. All of her waking moments were dedicated to helping lead the recruits under Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen. Her audacity in challenging authority found her punished by the other commanders, most especially Chief Renast. Sergeant Vilkinsen, on the other hand, had noticed that she possessed the leadership skills required to assist him while motivating and encouraging her fellow recruits to work as a team to overcome the obstacles already placed in their paths the past few months. Her willingness to stand out had earned her the rank of private first class, but it was her tenacity in the “Destination Devastation” that earned her corporal rank while most of the division were still privates. He especially valued her talent to ignore the attention some of the males were giving to her and the gossip the females would speak of her. Every division had the similar drama that most recruits struggled to resist staying out of.
“Go ask Sergeant Vilkinsen, I’m sure he’ll tell you,” Korteni nudged her friend.
“That’s borderline fraternization,” chimed in Sulica Nin snidely, the fourth recruit who shared the tent with the three females since leaving the Citadel eleven months ago. “How can we not notice the way you two look at one another when speaking privately?”
Brisethi let out a sigh, now ignoring the girl who thrived on spreading rumors. “The more I talk to him, the harder he is on me. Or have you not noticed that the division doesn’t receive intensive training as often? That’s because the Corporals are taking the beating for you all. Vorsen, Crommik, Trenn and myself – every other night, reprimanded for something you idiots did. My muscles hurt,” she complained, stretching her arms over her head. Each time she or the other three Corporals were called on by any one of the commanders, they would inspect their uniform and military bearing. If any of them found the Corporals to be less than perfect, or if they replied with a wrong answer to the commanders’ military questions, they would make the four recruits drop to the ground to do as many push-ups as they could, or any other type of strength-training, muscle failing routine. As the recruit Corporals were corrected on issues they were previously unaware of, they in turn would correct the other recruits so as to spare them the admonishment.
Six campfires were lit among the eighteen tents while recruits prepared their meals for the night. They had been trained to hunt their own meat and forage for their own fruit and vegetables while some recruits even gathered spices. Everyone had a part in preparing meals. They would fry flat bread, cut meat, mix the stew or boil beans. Water was the only beverage they were allowed to drink daily which was gathered from streams or the rain. Once they hit their first year mark, the recruits would be allowed one day a month to drink ale, wine or any other alcoholic beverage they could afford from any small village or town they passed. It was the one day a month the recruits could look forward to, but also the one privilege that would quickly be revoked if they became insubordinate. Fortunately for the other recruits, the four leading corporals ensured that none of their privileges would ever be revoked when taking the blame for others’ mistakes and mishaps.
The evening meal was relatively quiet without Chief Renast’s barking. Ever since the “Destination Devastation,” he had found some reason to put Brisethi in the midwatch rotation as often as possible. That night, she looked forward to a full night's sleep for the first time in days.
Chapter III
The sound of cannons, rifles, and distant shouting followed by the clanking of steel and pistol fire startled Brisethi awake. She bolted upright, taking in the raucous noises. Boots shuffled outside while orders were belted, indistinct over the cannons.
“What’s going on?” Korteni asked blearily, sitting up.
“I’m not sure,” Brisethi replied, “but we should probably go out there. It
might be a drill.” They woke the other two recruits and urged them all out of their bedrolls, donning their black and red uniforms.
Exiting the tent, Brisethi stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, then hastily made her way towards the shouting. She stumbled upon something on the ground, causing her to lose her balance and fall to one knee. She mumbled a curse and looked down to see what had tripped her. Her eyes took in the canvas uniform on the body in front of her: one of her own division soldiers had been slain. She gasped and covered her mouth, looking away in realization that there was no exercise. They were being attacked.
Her breathing rapidly increased. In a small panic, she grabbed at the dull training sword at her hip until she felt Korteni squat down beside her. “Brisethi, what’s going on?” she asked again. Brisethi heard her friend’s sharp intake of breath upon seeing their fallen comrade. “Who is that?” Korteni exclaimed, her voice higher-pitched than usual.
“It’s Finik,” Brisethi sadly answered. “Go back to the tent and gather Sestas and Nin. Find the medics and healers and be ready to tend to the wounded that I’m about to go find.” Brisethi had given her first official order.
She inhaled slowly, attempting to calm herself of the fallen comrade before racing to the edge of the camp. She hurried from tent to tent, summoning her spirit’s mystic to light a red flame above each wounded soldier as a beacon to guide Korteni’s company. “Sergeant!” she shouted when she saw Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen running toward her.
“Sen Asel, get back! We’re retreating!”
“But the wounded need-“ She quickly whipped her arm forward to conjure a flicker of flame behind the Sergeant. The man that was about to fire his pistol at Sergeant Vilkinsen from behind let out an agonizing scream as he was engulfed in red flames. Within seconds he was flailing on the ground to extinguish the flames, but they only grew hotter until he turned to ash.
Brisethi stared in horror. It was the first man she had ever killed. She hadn’t realized her mystics would actually kill him, only meaning to disable his wielding arm, not take his life. But some inner rage and panic inside forced her to spread the flames and increase the heat upon the man threatening to take her commander's life. She stood in shock, unable to hear the blasts around her. Sergeant Vilkinsen grabbed her arm, jarring her, and forcing her to run with him.
She had questions, so many questions, but struggled to find the words. Finally, they fell out in a rush. “Where will we go? They’ll follow us, we can’t outrun them…Who are they?”
Sergeant Vilkensen kept silent for a while, dragging her through the camp. Dozens of recruits fell in behind them, grabbing supply packs that were easy to reach and light to carry while others paused and helped the wounded stand and keep up. The only horses accompanying the division on the expedition had been taken by their specialized healer, Chief Renast, and his ten recruits who were still scouting in search of Division Thirty-Nine.
“Who do you think they were, Corporal? Is this your first day in the Dominion? Who’s our only enemy!” Sergeant Vilkinsen vented his frustration at her questions.
Even in her panicked state, she bristled at his reaction. “Why is no one else using their mystics to fight the Kiarans? They’re taking our people out one by one with those arrows and rifles!” she shouted back.
“Because, not every Resarian discovers their spirit’s mystic at your young age! We’re outnumbered and out armed-“
“No, we’re not!” She pulled away from him and quickly turned to run toward the back of the group. Suddenly she stopped, and, facing the enemy, she summoned hundreds of bursts of small, scarlet fireballs, each one aimed to consume every shot and arrow headed in her direction. She peered through the rain of fire to glare at the ground beneath the enemy before her. They were approaching rapidly, charging with swords raised now that they had exhausted their projectile weaponry. She thought about the mystic she needed to summon and exhaled slowly. Within a blink of an eye, cracks in the earth formed at their feet, followed by molten lava spewing forth in the form of fiery geysers. She could have just as easily summoned a small brush fire to chase the enemy off, but the sight of one of her fellow soldiers dead on the ground back at camp fueled her hatred. She wanted these attacking men to recompense for stepping foot on her continent. As her deadly mystics conceded to her will, she heard grown men scream in agony at the sight and pain of their bodies melting; first their feet, then their legs, followed by the rest of their bodies. Men tried to run out of the pool of lava beneath them but were quickly felled.
The smell was sickening.
Brisethi instantly wanted to stop the lava from pouring out; she wanted the men to stop wailing from pain but couldn’t remember how to desist her mystic. She closed her eyes and fell to her own knees, covering her ears to drown out the sound of dying men. “Stop screaming! Just die!” she cried aloud, bemoaning the massacre she had created and suddenly regretted using her mystic.
Where over a hundred heavily armed enemy marines had once been, now lay smoldering earth, leaving nothing and no one identifiable. Corporal Brisethi Sen Asel had obliterated an entire enemy squadron into dust and ash.
Her shards of fire turned to embers as Sergeant Vilkinsen approached her. She was unable to stand to receive him. Her legs refused to move, and her stomach rolled every time she thought of what she had done.
“How the fuck!” He stared down at her in awe. “Only the highest ranking officers in the Dominion can summon that much power in that short amount of time. I don’t even think the Emperor can conjure that kind of devastation.”
Brisethi looked up and gazed blankly at the dwindling magma. Finally, she stood and looked with empty eyes into Sergeant Vilkinsen’s astonished expression. The despair she felt in her heart re-ignited her mystic at the sound of the suppressed cries from the other recruits. Embers fell from her fingertips like the tears she couldn’t shed.
I took the life of a Kiaran man. He was attacking Sergeant First Class and all I could think was to protect him. And then I killed all the rest of them. I couldn’t count all of them, but it had to be more than a hundred. I didn’t leave any bodies, not even skeletons. There was just...nothing. Brisethi decided that her thoughts would be more of a suitable letter to her father, rather than her mother. Everyone is afraid of me; I’m afraid of me. Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen hardly includes me with the other corporals anymore. Only Korteni remains my friend, always smiling and trying to find the good in everything as she always does. We salvaged as much of our stuff as possible, but we cannot return to the city, yet. We have to stay nearby to wait for our scouts and find out what happened to Division Thirty-Nine. I’m sorry that I took this long to reply to your letter. I know this will worry you, but I assure you that I can most certainly take care of myself and, if need be, the rest of the division. I promise to you that nobody will come to your door with a folded up Dominion flag. She wrote at least three pages describing her life in the expedition, how she had ranked up faster than her other fellow recruits for having the same bellicose personality as her father, and how his raising her had allowed her to make use of her spirit’s mystics before anyone else. Moreover, how it had saved so many lives. Thank you, Dadi, for the early mystic training.
“Four years old?” Korteni repeated to her friend after finishing her own letter to her family.
Brisethi nodded as she crawled under her blanket. “My earliest memory of summoning fire was four years old. My father would throw broken branches into the sea on the cloudiest days and challenge me to summon a mystic from them. He knew I was born a fire mystic - it’s what the acolyte told him, but refused to let me know. Finally, on the day before my fifth birthday, I felt my spirit make use of its mystic. Expecting to see the branch in the sea turn to ice, I watched it ignite.”
“That makes no sense, it was wet, how can you set wet wood on fire?” Korteni suspiciously asked.
Sulica remained silent on her bedroll, too tired to argue with Brisethi, and very much still grievin
g the loss of so many recruits. Ibrienne listened intently, never having had a father, let alone a mother, to teach her to use the mystics she taught herself to use at the orphanage.
“Because my mystic evaporated the water inside and outside of it to allow me to ignite it. But the entire stick had evaporated - vanished into air after bursting into flames for a very short second,” Brisethi paused a moment, smiling at the memory. “My father was so proud of me, he took me downtown to buy me a birthday dress.” She lowered her head and smirked. “But I didn’t want a dress. I wanted a Dominion Navy uniform like his. We settled on a pirate coat and hat instead,” she giggled.
Korteni chuckled and turned the lantern low. “How did your mother react?”
“Oh she was infuriated at my father. She was hoping I’d be a healer or shield summoner. She very much despised destruction mystics and for good reason,” she replied, letting her voice trail off into a yawn. She had also left out the fact that it was already the second time in her fours years of life to bring disappointment to her sullen mother.
It took the entire next day to gather each fallen Dominion Soldier and lay them to rest in a burial, including Captain Tallien and Master Chief Synsun who had been among the first to fall from the surprise attack in their attempt to defend the recruits. Messengers were sent out to the nearest towns to have their orders and briefs sent through local horse riders back to Res’Baveth where Dominion Command resided.
Many recruits grieved for the loss of their comrades, the close friendships they had gained over the past year that quickly ended overnight. It was one of the most difficult tribulations the remaining recruits were currently facing, having to bury their very young friends.
Korteni walked up to Brisethi, each of them covered in dirt from digging dozens of graves. She looked down at the makeshift wooden memorial with the name, Ilikan Finik, painted across. “He adored you,” Korteni softly told her.
Spirits of Falajen Page 3