Bellica

by Katje van Loon

  They moved into fighting stances. Caelum nodded at him, his own sword in hand. "Understood."

  A pause as they measured each other, and then it began, two figures in the alley suddenly one, only the clash of their steel to show where they joined. Jules grunted as pain lacerated his arm. He felt a warm wetness under the bandage and knew he'd torn open the newly knit skin. I hope the stitches held, or Ghia will have my head.

  He pushed Caelum back harshly, and while the major regained his balance Jules tossed his sword to his right hand. It would be difficult, but better than using his injured arm. No sooner had he gripped his blade than they were at it again, the clashing of their swords ringing out in the still alley. Somehow Jules gained the upper hand, though how was beyond him, and he knocked Caelum's sword out of his hand. A swift kick had the major on his back, and Jules took the opening, pinning Caelum to the ground.

  "Surrender," he said, pointing his sword at Caelum's throat. I don't want to kill you.

  "Never hesitate in the kill, Medic," Caelum answered equably, flipping Jules off him. "You learned that in basic training," he said as he went for his sword. Before he could press his momentary advantage, Jules was on his feet again and defending.

  Jules shrugged with one shoulder. "Basic training doesn't cover killing one's superior officers."

  They squared off, circling each other like hungry animals. Caelum lunged, Jules parried. Back to pacing, looking for weaknesses. A few more clashes of steel and Jules saw it -- and wondered how he could miss something so obvious. Caelum now held his sword with his right hand since Jules had wounded his sword hand. Every time he defended, his left hand twitched upwards, before he remembered he fought with his right hand.

  With a lunge Jules attacked Caelum's left, and the momentary lapse on the major's part was enough. Jules disarmed the man effectively and knocked him to his feet. With no pause he placed his foot on Caelum's chest and applied a bit of pressure, stopping the major from rising. He took his sword in both hands and held it above the man's head, ready to drive it into his skull.

  And hesitated. Could he? Did he dare do this?

  With a grunt he drove the sword down. It slid into the mud beside Caelum's head, leaving the major unharmed.

  Caelum's lips quirked slightly -- in mirth. Jules stepped back, and looked between his bellica and his major. Yarrow had much the same look on her face.

  A set up. All planned. They'd never expected him to actually kill Caelum. His willingness to do so was the proof Yarrow needed. Had he actually done the deed, all sorts of things could happen on the road. He didn't have to return to Atherton.

  He shook his head in disgust. "Does my loyalty mean so little to you?"

  They didn't answer. He didn't expect them to. He retrieved his sword from the ground and cleaned and sheathed it, heading back to the tavern as he did so. He needed a nap. And a fresh bandage for his arm.

  Jester

  Jourd'Selene, 4th Primera

  Things had not been easy since the rebellion. Oh, sure, the city was theirs, and things were peaceful -- but it was an empty victory with no one to lead them.

  For since New Year's Aradia had been catatonic, unmoving, aside brief fits of temper during which she screamed and sobbed incoherent rage and anguish. Lucy had given the rebels a set of orders, and then had disappeared into her shared rooms with Aradia in the captured hacienda. Aeril had been left to Jester and Ewan.

  This pissed Jester off. She'd never wanted to lead anything -- being part of the core team was all she had wanted. She could understand Aradia's reaction, of course -- but she didn't see why Lucy couldn't step up to the plate. After all, the woman was quite a bit older than all of them. Shouldn't she be wiser? More experienced? Had she not lost less than the rest of them had? At least the one she loved was still alive.

  Jester was not excited about the prospect of being in charge right now. She'd leave it to Ewan but the man was not known for his intelligence. As for Jester, she was more for the part of the rebellion that involved storming the hacienda, shooting up things, and making threats -- not the morning-after clean-up or any of that diplomacy manure that came with establishing a new government.

  Was that what they really wanted to do? Jester didn't think anyone had actually thought out what they would do when they got control of the city, aside from keeping all knowledge of it hushed up. They had no military forces here -- only some Second Age lightning-sticks and sundry other weapons. Those could do some damage, but would not go very far in the long run of establishing their own independent city. They didn't even know if they wanted to establish their own independent city -- surely Athering would be better under the rule of someone else.

  Really, what is the point of a rebellion if you're not going to do anything with the power? Aside revenge, she silently amended. The death of Danika had been a precious event, worth all the indecision and problems that were happening now.

  At least my job is not made more difficult by a belligerent populace, she thought. Most of the townsfolk had welcomed the change the rebellion brought, and those who didn't had died. She and her lightning-stick had seen to it.

  Not to mention the destruction of several buildings, which now had to be rebuilt. After cleaning up the mess in the hacienda (she almost retched thinking of it anew), Ewan and Jester had set to work rebuilding the many buildings that had been blown up, and cleaning up the town. That destruction was not such a terrible thing: the buildings in Aeril were in such disrepair after Danika's long stint as Lady that most would have had to be rebuilt from scratch, anyway. It was still backbreaking, thankless labor, however, something Jester would have preferred to leave to the men of the town. Had there been enough men left.

  She sighed and put her back into lifting another deathtree log to place on the new tavern they were building. The owners were alive and unharmed and helping with the building. This place now took precedence, as the clinic was unharmed, the healers there working hard to keep the injured alive, and the mail caravan would be in town the next day. The caravan would need a place to stay and a plausible story to bring back to Atherton. The truth must not get out. If they could not convince the mail caravan riders of their story, then they would have to fire those people and put their own in place.

  Jester hoped it didn't come to that. The workers on the Two-Sides--Aeril--Atherton route were good folks, and she was friends with most of them. She'd hate to have to kill them. I'll see that I don't have to, then. I hope.

  Resolving to deal with that problem when she came to it, she put her back into finishing the tavern before nightfall.

  ~

  Nightfall found a finished tavern and several tired and sweaty workers, Jester and Ewan being no exceptions. Ever the follower in the team, he looked at her expectantly. "Go; bathe; rest," she said, waving him on. "I'll report."

  He nodded and ambled off easily. He was a simple man, with simple needs; big thoughts did not trouble him overmuch. She liked that about him. He was easy to manage.

  She was too complicated to suit herself, something she'd willingly trade for simplicity. To live passionless was her dream -- a useless one.

  Her steps drew near the hacienda. Looking up at the large building, she felt defeat grip her stomach. She steeled herself for the meeting with her erstwhile leaders. It would not be pleasant, for Jester had a bad habit of saying what no one wanted to hear but what needed to be said, usually half-jesting to soften the blow. Tonight, however, no humour would be a part of the meeting.

  She had to admit the hacienda was a beautiful building -- indeed, the only one that was not in a state of total disrepair in the whole town. It had been rebuilt many times over the ages, and this latest incarnation looked to be only a few centuries old. It had a nice antique look to it, a holdover from an older, simpler time, much preferable to the decadence that defined the current state of Athering's ruling class.

  "Come!" said Lucy, her voice tired, in response to Jester's knock. She opened the door and stole quietly into
the room, where she stood at attention. Aradia sat as she had, staring into space, unmoving. Her bad leg -- indicator of her true identity, though Jester had not let it be known she knew exactly who 'Aradia' was -- stretched out in front of her, propped on a small foot stool. Jester suppressed a grimace.

  "No change?" she asked Lucy.

  The older woman shook her head. "What am I to do?" she asked, a half-whisper.

  Now Jester did grimace. How to say what needed to be said without showing disrespect? "With all due respect, Ma'am, you can start by leading." So much for diplomacy.

  To her surprise, Lucy nodded in agreement. "I know. But this was a war of passions. Molly's are...were...are stronger. I'm at a loss."

  "Have we dropped our codenames, then?" Jester didn't know what else to ask.

  Lucy looked up, surprise on her face. "Oh...did I...? Well, I suppose it no longer matters. Yes." A pause. "I'm Selene."

  Jester nodded; it was her version of a bow. "Autumn." Another pause, more awkward. "Well. I suggest you get Molly to snap out of it before the mail caravan arrives tomorrow. We need to keep things quiet here and I can't run this show alone!" Realising she'd raised her voice, she stepped back and stopped. "We must control the outgoing mail," she finished in a much quieter voice.

  "Yes...but...hmm. There was something else," Selene trailed off and stared at Molly for long enough to make Autumn fidget uncomfortably. "A letter. She wanted to get a letter to a Selina in Atherton -- an ally to the rebellion."

  Autumn waited for the woman to speak again. When Selene didn't, Autumn nearly ground her teeth in frustration. Before she knew what she was doing she was in front of Molly, forcing the girl's lifeless eyes to look at her.

  "Molly," she said calmly. No reaction. "Molly, you must snap out of it. Can you hear me?"

  Molly stared into space.

  Autumn grunted in frustration and adjusted position. "Molly," she said more stridently, snapping her fingers in front of the girl's face. "Molly, Goddessdammit, snap out of it! The town is in disarray and we need your guidance. Molly!" She grabbed Molly's shoulders and shook the younger woman. "You need to contact your ally! Mail caravan comes tomorrow. Molly! Dammit, girl, you're not the only one who's lost something."

  A hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away. Selene's face stared at her angrily. "That's quite enough. You have no idea what she's lost."

  Autumn glared back at Selene. "Don't I? No one thought to tell the relatives of the other boys in the harem -- maybe you just thought to spare them the pain." She broke off and turned away, feeling tears pool in her eyes and hating herself for it. "But no one thought to spare me the pain of cleaning up the remains of my brother. Of staring at the horror of his last moments, and knowing that I wasn't able to save him -- that I wasn't quick enough.

  "So don't tell me that I don't know what she's going through, Selene," she spat, whirling to face the other woman. "Molly should have been my sister-in-law, had Damien and Luis not...not...."

  She dissolved then, tears blurring her vision. Arms wrapped around her tenderly, and she felt anger flood her. She pushed Selene back, knocking the woman to the floor. "Don't pity me!" she screamed. "Just wake Molly the feck up!"

  She ran, ran down the stairs to the front door, outside to the street, and on, on, on down the street until she reached the outskirts of the town, a safe place for her to collapse and sob out her anguish on the snowy plain, the stars winking down on her coldly, devoid of compassion.

  Aro

  Jourd'Bellona, 5th Primera

  They arrived at Harbourtown just after midnight to a scene out of a nightmare.

  The buildings still stood, for the most part, but bodies littered the streets and the harbour was filled with broken boats waiting to be repaired. The sea was a dark, frothy mass, full of floating debris and corpses. Martial law was in effect, Aro could see, and all around them people busied themselves with repairing the damage.

  "Does...does Harbourtown always look like this?" asked Ghia from beside him, her voice small and her face pale.

  "No. There's...there's been a battle, it seems," Aro answered her.

  A passing soldier glanced at them and Aro hailed her. "Major Aro of the second regiment and Head Healer Ghia of Athering. We bring what aid we can -- to whom do we report?"

  "Bellica Agate is acting Eorl. Her Ladyship Gray was injured in the attack. You can find the bellica at The Worn Blessing," the woman replied, gesturing down the street to an oceanside tavern. Aro thanked her and she went on her way.

  They made their way through town towards the tavern as quickly as was prudent, picking their way through the debris-ridden street. "Should we dismount and walk?" asked Ghia, watching people having to walk around their horses.

  He shook his head. "No point. And I'd rather not step on whoever fell on these streets."

  She swallowed nervously and nodded. "Right." A deep sigh followed, and Aro suddenly realised this must be the first actual battlefield she'd ever seen.

  Poor kid, he thought. He knew this trip must be hard on her -- and yet she undertook it willingly, to help Anala. Aro would be forever grateful to Ghia for that.

  They reached the tavern presently, dismounted and tied up their horses quickly. The interior looked like a madhouse: makeshift beds dotted the dining room, holding injured soldiers and civilians. A tired-looking bellica held conference with a man Aro assumed to be the equally tired-looking innkeeper. The major worked his way through the mess to reach the woman.

  "Bellica Agate," he said. She gave him a cursory glance. "Major Aro of the second regiment. I come with Athering's Head Healer to offer you aid."

  Agate looked up with more interest, and then frowned. "Healing we could use. Where is she?"

  Aro turned, expecting to see the healer beside him, and frowned as well. Scanning the room, he saw that Ghia was already at work, taking charge, directing other healers, and moving from bed to bed as she bandaged and medicated.

  "Ghia," he called, and she looked up. He made the sign to report. She nodded, gave the last of her instructions to another healer, walked over and addressed Agate directly, without preamble.

  "I take it upstairs beds and the clinic are filled to capacity?" Agate gave a brief nod. "I need the aid of all medicorps in the city, Bellica, and any others you can spare. I'm going to need to move some people. We need to reorganise according to...severity," her voice dropped, and Aro realised what she meant. It was a tough choice to make. He did not envy a healer that. "The tavern is a peaceful place," she continued. "People will be...comfortable here."

  "I've no problem with your orders, Head Healer, but you'll have to talk to Sebastien about turning his tavern into a casa de Muerta," said Agate, sotto voce, and then she turned to Aro. "Come. You want to help? The city needs to be cleaned, and I'm short troops." She walked to the door.

  Aro looked between Agate and Ghia, torn between duty and love.

  "Go, Aro. I've got Anala. She lives yet," Ghia said to him, and he didn't hesitate another moment. Quickly he ran after Agate and set his mind to the grisly task ahead.

  Ghia

  Another day, another crisis, she thought as she made her way to the clinic. At least the tavernkeeper was no trouble.

  Before she'd even had a chance to speak, Sebastien had answered her question. "I'd have no problem with whatever ye'd be needing ta be doin, Healer, if'n ye could do one thing for me," he'd said.

  "I'll do my best," Ghia said, knowing what he asked already, and hoping that it would be someone who wasn't too far gone. There were only so many she could bring back from Muerta's door before she drained her powers.

  "Anala Tanner'd be in tha clinic. Please...save her, if'n ye can."

  Ghia forced herself to smile at him. "Anala's my friend. I have no intention of letting her die."

  It had been gravy after that. She had the tavern reorganised to be a hospice, and transports waiting to take the ones she could save to the clinic. Now came the job of reorganising the clinic, but she wa
s sure with the help of that head healer it would go smoothly.

  The clinic was full, but nowhere near the crisis level the clinic in the slums had reached. No illness for healers to catch, either, only injuries. An easier job, to be sure. But still tiring. After this was over, she wanted a vacation. It was long overdue.

  Knowing vacation was nothing more than a dream, she pushed her wishful thoughts aside and worked on finding the Head Healer. Seeing the woman with the karykos on her lapel, Ghia approached her respectfully. "Head Healer Ghia of Athering," she said. "I'm here to help."

  The woman frowned at her. "I'd be Emily, but I dinnae see a badge on yer clothing. The Head Healer'd be Helene, besides."

  Ghia stopped herself from a display of temper. "Swiftshock broke out in Atherton over a tredicem ago and Helene fell ill. I've not had a chance to change my outfit to match my station." I was too busy doing my job, she let hang unspoken in the air, and the woman looked shamed. But only a little bit. "Where are those who are past Althea's dominion?"

  The woman gestured to the stairs. "Upper ward."

  Ghia nodded once, suppressing a grimace. It would be much harder to move them to the tavern from the upper floor of the clinic, but she had no choice. "I've got transports with those who can be saved coming from the tavern. Get your healers to organise painkiller for them, please. I'm going to see who can be saved."

  "I'd've already told ye, they cannae be. Do ye nae trust me judgment in me own clinic?"

  Ghia turned from her progress to the stairs and glared at the older woman. "A better question would be if you trust mine."

  They glared at each other for a few moments before Emily looked away, face flaming, and turned back to her patients.

  Another battle won, Ghia hurried up the stairs to the critical ward. When she reached the room, she did sigh in defeat. The room was crammed with dying people, and there were only so many she could help. Unless I let anger take me, and unfortunately I feel I have none left, only sadness. Besides, that would be a dangerous road to walk. Didn't Rosa tell me as much?