Spirits of Falajen

by Ginger Salazar

  Brisethi laughed. “Ew, he’s hardly charming. And I didn’t convince him, we were bartering! I told him I would repair his uniform if he gave me enough hide for both uniform and blanket. We’re heading into the mountains for the winter tomorrow and I still only had that stupid issued fabric blanket.”

  “Maybe you should have hunted down your own beast like the rest of the soldiers did,” Sulica interjected.

  “Are you really one to talk, Sulica?” Brisethi wasn’t in the mood to ignore Sulica’s comment, to have her one grateful moment torn down so fast. “Nobody believes you killed a wolf in self-defense, it was Crommick! He only lied for you because he’s too nice for his own good! He’ll do anything and everything to impress you so he let you keep the wolf fur.”

  “Oh how righteous of you to keep up with division gossip, Sergeant. I’m sure you’ve heard the one about how you really earned your rank.” Sulica sat on her knees and motioned placing an object into her mouth.

  “Whoaaaa!” Ibrienne shouted in disbelief.

  “Bitch!” Brisethi snapped and pounced upon Sulica, not wanting to leave a mark on her, but still wanting to inflict some sort of pain. The cheers of Ibrienne nearly drowned out the screams of Sulica.

  “Assault! Assault!” Sulica shouted until Brisethi covered her mouth and held her down.

  “Dammit, Sethi!” Korteni finally managed to get a hold of Brisethi’s arms and pried the Sergeant off of the Private First Class.

  Sulica wiped her bloody nose. “How can someone as immature as you possibly think you can lead anyone?”

  “Stop!” Korteni shouted, placing herself in between the two women. “Go to sleep, all of you. I’m tired. We have a long day of hiking ahead of us in the morning.”

  Brisethi unbuttoned her top layer of uniform and angrily threw it on top of her pack. She crawled into her bedroll and underneath her new fur blanket. At least she would no longer wake up weary from keeping herself warm with her fire mystic all night.

  Chapter VIII

  The nearby thunder and lightning woke the division before the light of day. Lanterns were lit as Sergeant Vilkinsen ordered everyone to pack up quicker than usual so as to leave before the rain left them stranded. They broke camp and formed up to begin the hike. They hadn’t gone half a mile when the drizzle started.

  He had told Sergeant Sen Asel to remain in the front of the formation with him in order to give her, Crommik, and Vorsen training on leadership and Dominion core values. When he had a break from all his chatter he randomly mentioned something odd. “They weren’t Kiarans.”

  “Who weren’t?” Brisethi wiped the rain from her face with her wet sleeve.

  “The men who attacked us a few weeks ago could not have been of the Pahl’Kiar Empire,” Sergeant Vilkinsen continued. “We have set rules of engagement ever since they were first exiled thousands of years ago. No attacking civilians, no attacking training commands. Battles are to be fought by experienced soldiers and sailors only,” He explained.

  “You didn’t get a look at their uniforms?” she asked, repositioning her oversized rucksack on her back. She was starting to regret purchasing two books in addition to her issued language training book weighing her rucksack.

  He glared at her. “Well first off, it was dark; secondly, you charred every single one of them before I had a chance to see what they were wearing after the fact.” She lowered her eyes from his.

  “Something is wrong,” he muttered. “How did we lose track of an entire division that’s a year ahead of us in training? Where is Chief Renast and his scouts? Who ambushed us and why? Never in the history of the Dominion has a recruit training division been attacked by Kiarans. Either they’ve thrown out the pact to become more desperate and aggressive, or we’re dealing with armored bandits. Possibly, a whole new nation that wants in on our land. The only aggressors recruits usually ever see are pirates during the fourth year.”

  Brisethi remained quiet as she thought about the War of Eras started over three thousand years ago. Since the men of Sariadne first established civilization, the Kiarans of the South had always disputed with the Resarians of the North.

  In the beginning, Kiarans had also been born with the same spirits as the Resarians. Kiarans had used their mystics to engineer majestic architecture and destructive war machines in fear that the Resarians had power over the ancient, aggressive dragons. When the war broke out, they had used these powerful cannons and ballistic missiles against the Resarians and their dragons, nearly sending them both into extinction. The Kiarans were determined to rid the world of Falajen’s aggressive creatures, unbeknownst to where their mystic spirits had even come from.

  Less than four hundred Resarians had survived the final attack. One of the survivors was the unbroken Emperor of Res’Baveth, Sentiar Asellunas. He had retaliated with such impeccable might that he had summoned the stars from the sky to crash down upon the armies of the Pahl’Kiar. It was then that he exiled every Kiaran off of Sariadne, never allowed to return. He had deemed the Resarian Empire as the Dominion of Sariadne and named himself the sole emperor of the continent. Since three thousand and forty years ago, no other Resarian had ever been able to conjure the stars to carry out his or her bidding. Even the Dominion emblem was his creation; three stars crashing through the atmosphere in the color of gold against black and red banners and uniforms to remind the rest of the world of his summoned destruction. He would rule and protect Sariadne for five hundred more years until his death from the natural cause of Mystisomnia.

  The lightning in the distance stirred Brisethi from her history review. The storms reminded her of her childhood spent along the sandy shore of the North Coast. A child of only four winters stood before the raging sea, its waters dark and foaming. Her father had just made the naval rank of Captain, meaning he would be at sea more than at home. While he was home, he spent most of the time teaching Brisethi to summon her inner spirit.

  Although it was fire that her spirit had manifested, it was lightning Brisethi had become obsessed with. She was drawn to thunderstorms over the sea and particularly any time Mt. Bavala erupted, which was every few years. She would climb the nearest foothill of the Mira’Shan Mountain Range to watch the lightning strike above the eruption. The three times she had witnessed the natural phenomena, she imagined that she was the one summoning both the lava and the lightning.

  Sergeant Vilkinsen interrupted her thoughts when he halted the division at a meadow, routinely used for camp, and had the recruits set up. They had marched a quick pace throughout the day, despite the puddles and mud they trudged through, stopping only once for a quick, small meal. The recruits would only stay one night at the designated post then wake up before dawn again to march further north and west.

  They had spent their first year out of the Citadel barracks training along the eastern coastline of Sariadne. The soldiers had learned to live near the plains to hunt, and the sea to fish and bathe. They would spend the next year living in forests and mountains to experience all seasons. It was the mountain winter training that broke many Resarians each expedition and encouraged some of them to return home, never completing their Dominion training.

  Division Forty-One had a long night’s rest to prepare them for the following day of marching through chilled weather. The sun never broke through the clouds during their trek through the cool forest, and, when they came upon their next destination, flurries had started to fall.

  It wasn’t until their sixth consecutive day of trudging through snow and mud, ascending in elevation, that the division finally approached their base camp. They would remain near the lumber yard, building their own garrison of log barracks then taking them back down when they left. Sergeant Vilkinsen told them it had something to do with building teamwork, survival skills, and field training, but Brisethi often felt it was just another way to tire out their bodies.

  It took only one week to complete the garrison of the command quarters, four huts that would serve as barracks for the fifty-two soldier
s that were left, a bathing house, and a kitchen area for storing and cooking their food. Winter nearly caught the recruits unaware as the Resarians quickly learned to layer their uniforms with extra leather, fur and wool. Some of them even made cloaks. Many considered making coats a wasted effort that required a skilled needle, not easy to come by with gloved or cold hands.

  Snow began falling nearly every day, piling onto the ground, the trees and their huts. The flurries would settle on the branches, weighing them down until they were sure to break. The sky rarely was seen as anything other than shades of gray, bright when the sun should have been out and dark at night. It would have been a winter wonderland for anyone not having to go outside and train all day. Despite the heavy snowfall, Sergeant First Class Vilkinsen still had the recruits marching double-time through ice and snow while carrying their full armor, weapons and shields for the strength and endurance training.

  Now that Vorsen and Crommick had also been promoted to Sergeant, Brisethi unintentionally spent the majority of her days with them and Sergeant Vilkinsen, learning how to plan the next week’s activities. Some days were dedicated to survival techniques, how to turn the ice into an ally instead of an enemy. Others were devoted to strategy development, how to attack and defend against armies. The recruits continued to pair up every other night for combat fighting. Vorsen tended to ignore Brisethi unless the task at hand required him to speak. He was no more eager to talk than she was after each spar.

  Brisethi reluctantly approached Vorsen before their training one evening. He was sitting on a fallen tree, working on his gear. “Hey, Sergeant, you never did bring me extra materials for your new uniform,” she said.

  He looked up from sharpening his blade. “Ah, I ended up repairing it on my own.”

  “Well I still felt like I owed you so I made you this,” she handed him the wool bundle.

  He stood up to take the gift from her hands. “I thought we were already even, you saved me from a brutal beating, and I saved you from cold winter nights. I can’t accept this, Sergeant.”

  “Take it, please. It’s the least I could do since you gave me something meant for your loved one back at home,” she looked down at the bundle, silently cursing to herself. She hadn’t meant to bring that up. “Besides, I made one for myself already and my two closest friends. I had a lot of extra wool from all my fishbone trinket and jewelry trading,” she smiled, proud of her crafts.

  He finally accepted the gift and unraveled it. She had crafted for him a black wool cloak, its hood lined with bear fur. The clasp was made of fish bone and carved into the shape of the Resarian Dominion insignia. He fingered the neatly carven stars surrounded in various shapes of ancient mystic symbols painted gold. He placed it over his makeshift fabric blanket cloak. “I have to admit I needed this. I appreciate it very much, Sen Asel.” He shook her hand in thanks.

  “Try not to get too much blood on it?” She jested.

  Hunting and fishing were considerably more difficult when it constantly snowed. The lakes and rivers froze over, compelling Brisethi to ice fish. She trekked a few yards onto one of the nearby lakes, slowly moving forward until she was sure the ice would hold her. Then she took her gloves off and squatted down. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the fire within until her hands felt very warm. Her index finger traced a circle in the ice in front of her. Brisethi opened her eyes, seeing the ice begin to melt away, leaving a hole just large enough for her purposes. She grinned smugly, satisfied with her growing ability to control and direct her mystic.

  She placed the baited hook into the hole until it reached the water down at the bottom. Her stomach complained loudly from hunger. The dried flatbread she had eaten the night before was just not as substantial as meat. Her hands began to get cold and her toes were getting numb. She was obliged to summon her mystic again in order to warm her skin.

  She had been sitting there for quite some time when the sound of crunching snow signaled someone’s approach. When the footsteps stopped she finally looked up to greet either Korteni or Sergeant Vilkinsen. To her surprise, it was neither of them.

  “Sergeant, you need to kill something with meat on it,” Vorsen said and placed his bow and quiver of arrows beside her.

  “Well, I’m not just doing this for fun,” Brisethi quipped. She winced at the thought of slaughtering a big animal.

  “Don’t give me that look. You need to eat, you need to move around. Kill us an animal, and I’ll do the gross work.” He held his hand out to her.

  “Why are you helping me?” She cautiously took his hand to stand up.

  “Because I don’t want a weak combat partner, is that so wrong?”

  “Oh, of course.” She picked up his bow and arrows then followed him off the ice and into the woods.

  “Also, I need a trinket made. I’ll pay you for it,” he added quickly. “Something simple, like those star boxes you made for a couple others. You paint them, too, right?”

  “Painting costs extra. Paints aren’t cheap and neither is my time,” she gloated, earning an eye roll from Vorsen that went unseen as she picked her way into the forest.

  They hiked deeper into the forest using small deer trails. The thick pine branches overhead kept most of the snow off the ground, making it easier to stay quiet so as not to spook any animals. Dozens of other soldiers hiked and hunted in the area surrounding camp, but Vorsen led Brisethi on a different route, taking them climbing up a cliff and crawling through a couple of glacial tunnels. The usual afternoon snowfall arrived, making the air around them almost deafening. He taught her to walk quieter, using the forest bed to cushion the sound of their feet by walking deliberately from heel to toe. She was a bit unnerved that he had taken them so far from the garrison and nearly voiced her concern until he squatted down and motioned for her to do the same.

  She slowly crept toward him to see what he was looking at. As quietly as possible, she notched the bow and took aim at the large buck scraping his antlers against the cherry blossom tree trunk, barren in the winter cold. She knew exactly where to aim but still hesitated on releasing the arrow. Even though Vorsen said he would help her take care of the bloody pieces, Brisethi briefly wondered how they would carry such a massive beast back. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind of everything around her. At the end of her exhale, she released the arrow, sending it to the heart of the buck.

  “Good shot,” Vorsen complimented as they both headed towards their kill.

  She retrieved the arrow, cleaning the blood off of it with snow. “How are we going to get this all the way back to the garrison? That was some pretty rough terrain we hiked through.”

  “I was just going to do the work here so there’s less for us to carry,” Vorsen removed his cloak and handed it to her. He then removed various knives and bags from his backpack.

  “Ah,” she remarked. She stood awkwardly, his cloak she had made for him in her arms, not wanting to ask if he needed help. She didn’t want to deal with the amount of blood pouring out from the belly that Vorsen had just sliced open. “I would help, but-“

  “I understand. But if you’re bored, build us a fire before we get frostbite.” He busily cut at the animal. Its body was still warm enough to keep him from freezing, but that wouldn’t last long.

  “You mean before you get frostbite,” she smirked, casting a small fire through her gloves. It was a wasted effort. Vorsen was preoccupied with the deer. “I wish I’d known you were going to abduct me or I’d have brought my paints and log book so I’d have something to do. I want to paint the forest.”

  “You should let me see your paintings some time,” he casually replied.

  “I sell them, too, by the way. In case you were interested,” she said, never one to turn down a bartering opportunity.

  She gathered twigs and used her mystic to cast fire to melt the snow before her. She placed the sticks into the dry patch and once more allowed her spirit to summon a flame to light the damp wood. She couldn’t have used ordinary fire to ignit
e such useless kindling.

  Brisethi watched Vorsen empty the guts and then skin the animal, and quarter up the meat of it. He took a break every so often to wash the blood off his hands with snow and re-warm his hands by the fire. He asked if she wanted any of the bones for her crafts and she nodded, telling him to save her any of the easy to carry bones. As he set them aside, she used the snow to clean them a little more. She would finish the job when they got back to camp.

  The awkward silence was destroying her sanity, even when she hummed her favorite songs. She brushed at the snowflakes that fell upon her. “Sergeant Vorsen,” she glanced sideways at him, “what’s your first name?” she innocently asked.

  Without pausing or taking his eyes off of his task he shortly replied, “It’s Etyne. You take muster every single morning during formation and read our names more than once a day when filling out paperwork and log entries. Surely, you’ve memorized most of us by now.”

  “I knew that. I was just making sure I was pronouncing it correctly,” she made a face at him before he could look up at her. “I’m Brisethi-”

  “I know your name,” he met her eyes.

  She held his daunting gaze until it was awkward once more. “Good talk,” she finally ceded to silence once more and crouched back in front of her fire to listen to her thoughts. She wasn’t quite sure what her friends saw in the man. You’re cold, stand-offish, and barely attractive, she thought to herself.

  The light of day began to dwindle when they finally packed up the goods of their hunt and headed back toward the garrison. The trek back was more treacherous now that they were descending in the dark. They had both already slipped on ice once and didn’t want to risk falling off a cliff so she lit a red flame to light their path.

  They were near the garrison when they came upon the small cliff they had climbed that afternoon. Vorsen took off his pack and scaled down the cliff the same way they had gone up. He looked up at her still holding a red flame in her hand. “Throw me our packs then I’ll help you down.”