Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  As Darius lay idle on his bed, it struck him just how unjust the War was. Where a person went upon death, none knew – if the Angels did, than they would not tell, remaining silent whenever asked. It seemed certain enough that his fellow soldiers who fell in battle did not simply wait awhile and return. They gave their lives for Bastion, for the cause of Heaven. What did they get in return?

  Darius tried to shake off his morbid thoughts. Robert had been a soldier, and unjust War or no, Robert had known death may lie in wait for him. The same was true of Kray, who had at least managed to taste the life of a man of Bastion before he died, much more than could be said for all the poor curs Darius himself fought against.

  Still, Darius could not completely shrug off the feelings of outrage – and guilt. Robert had not been just a soldier. He had been a friend. Darius fought as hard as he did, gave what he did, so that his friends would live.

  But he was also a soldier, Darius thought. "Even Robert would say I'm being foolish," he muttered. As was so often true, what his mind knew did no good against what his heart felt. The guilt remained.

  Darius carefully attempted to move his injured leg. The pain that shot through him was dire, but less than it had been. It no longer made him want to wretch and retreat into unconsciousness. Soon he would be able to move about with a crutch, and then he would return to Bastion – or at least close enough for an Angel to come to him. He was still puzzled by their absence here, and wondered again if the unexpected attack had unsettled the Choirs. Or perhaps they had lost the battle, and there were none to send for a time.

  "How many Angels does Heaven hold?" Darius wondered aloud to himself. He scoffed at his own question. Another futile attempt by a man to understand the Great War. However the powers of Heaven and Hell were reckoned, he was certain numbers had very little to do with it.

  Though Darius disliked having to wait – especially for himself – he had seldom had a better place to do it in. This forest amongst the mountains was nothing short of gorgeous, and it was now deep fall and all the trees were afire with vibrant color. It was far more pleasant than spending his convalescence in some army camp, with the dust and smell. His sickbed lie against the bole of a mighty tree, and above him the expansive canopy let in shafts of light here and there to illuminate the forest floor.

  The ground here was rockier than by the river, and unlike that forest, here underbrush was rare. Even grass did not grow here – the floor was mostly dead leaves and the loam they left behind. Only the trees grew here, tall and proud, their roots reaching deep into the soil, pushing aside rock and stone in search of water. They were much fewer than by the river and most of them had no branches until many feet above a man's head, so that the forest had an open, airy feel to it. In some places when the trunks of the trees aligned just so, the view to the south was nearly open, allowing sight of the Threeforts Valley.

  Had he not suffered so dear a loss, Darius thought he could have truly relaxed here, War or no War. As it was, his mind would not lie still and quiet. Concentrating on the birdsong, he could push aside the voices in his head for a moment – until the chirps and trills became the voices, reproaching him and cursing him for his failures.

  It was his time with Shara that truly drew Darius's mind off his troubles. His constant attempts to engage her in conversation eventually yielded success, and she answered his questions openly once she realized they stemmed from simple curiosity. Darius had forgotten his feverish revelation about her, and she gave no more displays to remind him.

  No doubt there were men in Bastion who knew all about her tribe, but Darius had never been much for reading reports unless they impacted him directly. These mountain people – the Pa'ra'a, in the tongue they still used amongst their own – had inhabited the region for many hundreds of years. They were not unlike the river folk who provided Bastion with such excellent scouts to the south. More stubborn, more cautious – the mountains were home to many predators which even a skilled hunter must be wary of.

  Though these people had not moved to Bastion, they were allied with the city – there were no bystanders in the War. Instead, they sent men to serve in the army, most of whom did not return – either killed in battle, or choosing to settle in the city after their service. The rest of the people guarded the mountains to the north of Threeforts, ever vigilant against the spies of the Enemy.

  Darius was surprised to find that they were quite numerous, with a handful of villages scattered throughout the heights. It was one of the reasons for the Valley's surpassing safety – it was well nigh impossible for the Enemy to surprise Bastion here, with such an able ring of guardians.

  "Don't you think you could do more good if you were more active in the War?" Darius asked. Shara looked sharply at him, and Darius silently chastised himself. The question had been innocent, not meant as another suggestion that her people should go to Bastion. She did not answer, and he afterward watched his tongue more carefully. Still, he could not help but wonder what manner of impact they might make. If Shara was to be taken at her word, her people must number in the thousands.

  Darius was also impressed by the extent of the history Shara's people had preserved. He could not judge its veracity, but its scope and depth was vast. They had no written script of their own, but their cultural memory reached back to their emigration to the mountains from lands further north. A warlike people then, they had fled a tribe even more aggressive – and who rode great beasts of war, lending them speed Shara's people could not match. When they came to the mountains they adapted to their new home quickly, eventually dominating the area, and displacing other tribes in turn. They had enjoyed many generations of relative peace, for there were none to challenge their supremacy.

  Until the Angels came. Under their tutelage, a lowlands tribe united many peoples into a nation, and built the citadel of Bastion. Though their focus was not on Shara's people, there were conflicts between them as Bastion pursued their war against the Demons and their servants. Bastion required many resources, and much land to provide them. The Pa'ra'a were forced to give way – though they had been mighty, the men of Bastion had learned much of warfare.

  At the time, the Aeonians fought each other often, and Angels and Demons alike were too concerned with each other to lend much aid or counsel to the humans that did their bidding. It was not until many years after the initial Forging that men of Bastion came on missions of friendship to Shara's people.

  By then it was too late. That same impressive cultural memory their people preserved also carried with it a lasting grudge against those who threatened their home. The hostility they bore was eventually allayed by the Angels, whom no man or woman could hold in contempt, but the memory – and with it, a permanent rift – remained between the two peoples.

  "I'm sorry," Darius said once, when Shara told him of the destruction left by the soldiers of Bastion, as they chased the Pa'ra'a away from lands they themselves coveted.

  Shara shrugged off his apology. "It was war, wizard. And it was not you who did this."

  "They were my people. They were wrong to attack – they should have gathered you in from the start."

  Shara smiled with a bit of her old disdain, softened by familiarity. "You see the past with the present's eyes, wizard. We would not have come, even then; we would have fought. We had already been forced to abandon one home, we would not do so again. Your people were just men to us – we knew nothing of the Angels then."

  There was a moment of silence then, until Shara asked, "Why do you fight, if you are sorry, wizard?"

  With a puzzled look, Darius answered. "I am sorry we fought when we did not need to, Shara. I do not shy from the fight that is necessary."

  "Yes. You fight very hard. I see that in you. Even now you... itch to return. Why so eager?"

  Darius thought for a moment. "Because if I fight hard enough, I won't need to fight forever," he answered.

  Darius learned much from Shara in the time she cared for him. Aside from the history of
her people, he often asked questions about her remedies; the herbs she used, when she used heated water or cold, even the words she chanted.

  She must have enjoyed having such an attentive pupil, for she took to spending long hours with him even when he did not require the attention of her healing skills. Darius did it to keep his mind off of his current situation, but he had always enjoyed learning – though he could rarely remain still enough to do much of it in this way. He preferred a more active style of lesson, which tended to limit the subjects.

  “You give me this often,” Darius said once as she sprinkled a greyish-blue powder into some warm water.

  She took a pinch of the powder from its container – a hollowed boar's tusk, by the looks of it – and held it out for him. He sniffed it and, at her urging, touched it to his tongue. It had a strange, metallic taste.

  “This is a very valuable medicine, wizard. It helps to cleanse the blood, and protects against fevers.”

  Darius smiled warmly. “The most learned herb-grower in Bastion is not your equal, I think.”

  She smiled back, though in her usual condescending way. “Of course. What use does Bastion have for this knowledge?”

  “We know herbs!” Darius protested.

  “Only a few, and the simplest,” Shara scolded. “Things any child of my people knows. Only enough to keep a man alive for a bit, so that an Angel may Heal him. Nothing that you can use to heal yourselves.”

  Darius had his mouth open for another argument when he realized she was correct. Drugs to send a man to sleep or ease a cough were used commonly in Bastion, and there were rarer concoctions that could ease the flow of blood from a wound – but all were meant to buy time, not heal outright.

  The uncomfortable look on his face must have told her his thoughts, for she voiced them. “Your people once had this knowledge. Then the Angels came.”

  Eventually Darius could move his still-splinted leg without great pain, and had his soldiers make him a crutch. The Gryphons would not make good speed, but he only needed to get close enough to Bastion for an Angel to come. He could then turn his men around and return to the War.

  Though returning to Bastion in truth might be perfectly forgivable in his situation, his men had already spent far too much time sitting around in the city, and now in the forest. They were good soldiers all, and to have any impact at all they had to be in the fight and Darius would be able to focus on something other than the loss of a friend.

  Still, a small voice within him called for delay. There was a peacefulness to the mountainside that Darius had never known before, a sense of removal from the cares of the War. It was dangerously seductive. His soldiers, too, seemed in no hurry to leave. Robert's death had affected everyone, somehow – the man had been a rock, a timeless soldier whose discipline and prowess had made him seem indomitable, unconquerable. Losing him had hurt the Gryphons mightily.

  For the first time in many days, Darius slept with difficulty. As light crept into the clouds that hung heavily that morning, he sat up, gritted his teeth, and swung his legs off the bed. The pain was not as bad as he had feared. Hopefully, he could keep himself from wincing openly while they traveled. He took his new crutch from where it leaned against the tree; a sturdy elm branch with a convenient bend at the top, padded with moss and strips of leather.

  Standing hurt more than sitting, but as long as he kept most of his weight off his injured leg it was bearable. He tried a few practice steps, getting used to the strange loping gait. He'd seen plenty of men walk upon crutches, but had never needed to himself. Some of them had been able to keep a normal walking pace. Darius supposed he would gain the required agility in time. As it was, the rest of the Gryphons were going to have quite the leisurely stroll.

  The wizard sat back down, grabbing food from his pack and eating quickly. That same mysterious feeling was dwelling in the pit of his chest, a wanton indolence that begged him to lie back down and rest awhile longer. He almost heeded it. Surely there was little to be gained with haste, now?

  Then one of his men stirred, and seeing the silhouette of his captain sitting upon the bed which he had so long occupied, the soldier rose and called out to the men next to him. In moments, the Gryphons were awake, breaking fast and preparing to leave all at once. Darius cast off his laziness and followed suit, worrying at hard bread and dried meat with little pleasure. He'd had the benefit of hot food while he was recuperating, some of it made by Shara's people with far more elegance than even the finest cook amongst the Gryphons could manage, especially while in the field.

  Shara glided gracefully through the bustle of soldiers to stand before Darius. Her face carried the usual expression of mild contempt. Now Darius knew her real feelings to be far more complicated, and that she wore the facade to guard her thoughts.

  He was pleased that she had come to see him off. He rose to greet her, leaning on his crutch as little as possible. Darius could read on her face that Shara was not fooled, but she said nothing about it.

  "I wish I had more to give you than words, Shara," he said. "I could have things brought to you. Do your people need... well, anything? Weapons, food, anything Bastion can give.”

  Shara was shaking her head as he spoke. "We need nothing from you, wizard. Your thanks are repayment enough."

  "There has to be something you would appreciate," Darius insisted.

  To his surprise, she smiled then, one of the few he had seen her give. "I have filled your ears with too many stories of woe... Darius," she said, using his name for the first time. "My people gain much from Bastion, and from the Angels. It is we who repay a debt by helping you."

  Darius was certain she was only being half-truthful – her people may indeed profit by their association with Bastion, but she did not feel she owed them anything.

  Shara touched a hand to her head and heart, a sign of parting he had seen her give some of her own people. He mimicked the gesture, and she left. Many of the Gryphons gave her bows or salutes of their own. She acknowledged them in turn.

  When Shara and her people had all departed, Darius beckoned Pollis over.

  "We're heading back to the plateau," he told the veteran. "I want... I need to see the graves before we start towards Bastion."

  Pollis nodded, understanding. Darius had set a few of them towards burying the fallen once it was safe – but most of the soldiers had not gotten the chance to say their farewells. Just as the man was turning to spread the orders, Darius stopped him.

  "Pollis - "

  "Yes, sir?"

  Darius gave a tiny smile. "You're the lieutenant now, you know."

  To the wizard's great surprise, the soldier's eyes grew moist, though no tears fell. "Yessir," he said, as if he'd expected it. "Honored, sir."

  Perhaps he had expected it. Pollis was one of the few men left who had been a Gryphon from the beginning. He was a man of great mirth, and deep caring – though he often hid it behind rough humor.

  It was nearly twelve miles of forested mountainside that they had to traverse to reach the edge of the valley, all of it gently downhill. Darius quickly grew more steady on his crutch, but the pace was painfully slow. Though his leg began to ache fiercely and his body grew tired, Darius made himself keep moving until they arrived at the edge of the forest.

  The treeline was much further back than it had been. The Gryphons came out to the side of the worst devastation, and Darius saw that his scouts had described the scene accurately. Trees fallen in vast swathes, some of them shattered, others burnt. A few were cleaved cleanly in two, victims of the mighty sweep of an Angel's sword. There were also places where the vegetation was shriveled by something other than heat. The destruction that a Demon unleashed came in many forms, and virulent diseases were not the least dangerous of them. When he came by these twisted, rotting plants, Darius summoned what magic he could and incinerated them, erasing the Demons' taint.

  The shattered trees and mangled bushes took the place of the fallen in this battle. There were no corpses,
and no blood stained the ground. When the Aeonians lost a battle they left nothing physical behind, abandoning the mortal world completely. Only Darius could see the remnants of the magic that had touched this place, the scars upon the earth where Demon spells had been turned aside. There were also marks left by the Angels, glittering trails of their more elegant – but no less lethal – power. In time it all would fade, as the natural forces of the area reasserted their dominance and erased the damage.

  Darius led his men to the mounds that now stood at the southern edge of the clearing. There were only twenty. Had the Demon come with no intentions other than slaughter, it might have annihilated the entire group. He supposed he should be thankful it had been sent for him alone.

  Wordlessly, the Gryphons gathered around the earthen mounds. The latent grief that had shadowed their days in the forest was in their eyes. A man fallen in battle was sad, but every soldier knew that may lie in his future. Death at the hands of an enemy defied could be a proud thing.

  The death of a man at the claws of a Demon was something else entirely. It was predation without purpose, without hope of victory – or even escape.

  Darius struggled to find words for his men, to comfort them. His pain and tiredness clouded his mind, and attempting to give voice to the sorrow they all felt, attempting to find reason and meaning in the death of Robert and the others, was momentarily beyond him.

  "Here lie our comrades," he said finally, with a strong voice that belied his own feelings. "Our fellows – our friends." He drew a deep, raspy breath. "Some of you have been with me for years, and we have lost many of our own. We grieved them as soldiers should – by returning to the fight, and striving against our enemies with courage and strength all the greater for our sorrow. Robert was like this. His entire life he fought, and led, and bled with his fellows. Never did he tire, never did his determination fail.