She turned back to the mess in front of her: the mangled bodies of her fellow soldiers. It took several minutes for her to force herself to look away. When she did, she turned to the incline to her right to climb out of the swamp. Hafi had climbed down and was holding the Xenai’s vest. She reached for it without a word and took it, opening it up before she let the Blight crystal that still hovered in the air beside her drop into it as she examined the vest. It was a heavy weave, even before being soaked through with the blood of the Blight field. The inner lining of the vest was carefully sewn with lines of a glowing purple stone.
Great. Another new thing.
Whatever excitement she had for the unknown Source paled into nausea as she glanced up at the bodies left behind by the spheres made of Source she didn’t understand yet.
She ran a finger over one of the small purple gems, feeling for any changes in her to give her a clue to what it did. She felt no response in it; not even the resonance she had felt earlier. Wrapping the Blight crystal in the vest, she shoved it back into Hafi’s hands and moved to the north side of the field to climb out of the field soaked in death.
Shara took to walking at the back of the line of recruits, which was notably smaller. Hafi had said nothing to her. He didn’t need to. They might not have been trained, but it was still a loss to the army that couldn’t afford unnecessary losses. What remained of the Pact Army after the canyon was less than half their total forces. With this batch of recruits and conscriptions, they still were just short of a thousand men—against how many Xenai? They knew of tens of thousands and the swarms of them in her mountains were only a fraction of the Xenai that lived in their capital city on the western coast.
James had tried to talk to her, falling to the back of the line as well, but he tired of her one-word responses and walked silently beside her for the rest of the day. Several hours past nightfall, the forward camp came into view. Despite their small numbers in comparison, the sprawling camp felt huge. It extended out as far as her eyes could see in the darkness, tiny white peaks punctuated by the orange flickering of fires.
By the time the rear got past the patrol lines at the edge of the camp, Taeri had appeared and was waiting for her. His half scarred face was a welcome sight. Hafi had no doubt given him a short summary, in both words and tone, of what had happened in the Blight field, but Taeri said nothing about it. He waved vigorously before grabbing her up in a big hug. James paused for a moment, trying to hide his surprise when he caught a clear look at Taeri’s face. He dropped back behind Shara as the two exchanged greetings.
“I’mma need some supplies from the new carts, but you wait here, I’ll give you the grand tour, darlin’!” Taeri said with a wicked grin.
“So, after you get alcohol, you’ll tell me where to find alcohol?”
“Can’t give ‘way my secrets ‘til I got my stockpile.”
He turned and sauntered away into the darkness between tents. The camp seemed to have no order to it at all and Shara had no idea what a tour would look like other than pointing out the endless chaos of tents, soldiers and campfires.
James stepped closer to her, “Who was that?”
“That is Taeri! Hafi’s sort of step-father. Raised him anyway, even if his mother was never really married to him—and it was a pretty, uh, volatile relationship. But, Taeri raised Hafi more than his own mother did.”
She glanced up to find James staring into the darkness where Taeri had vanished and she leaned in and said, “H hanging T,”.
James looked at her in confusion.
She leaned in to him again and continued, “The brand you’re looking for is ‘H hanging T’—It’s the brand Hafi chose for him when he lived in Ceafield. A few people carry an ‘H hanging’ brand, he told me. They may have been lovers for many years, but Taeri killed Hafi’s mother. She wanted to end things with Taeri, but Taeri loved her too much to let her go. Hafi also thinks he did… other things… first.”
James blinked and looked almost frightened, and Shara suppressed the smirk she felt in response to his reaction. It was only natural to wonder how Hafi could love the man so much after what he did, and even let him join the army. Not that their hastily recruited army was a beacon of honor—a good portion of the men here were released early from Prin’s jails—which was just another excuse in a long list of them that her mother readily provided her with on why Shara shouldn’t join the army. Shara liked the rough types, and if they got too rough, well, she could take care of herself. She kept the details to herself about Hafi’s mother that would offer up some reasoning about the situation, and kept her amusement going at James’ bewilderment.
Taeri reappeared, waving at the two of them to follow. They both dutifully walked through the camp behind him until they reached the center of the camp, where a large tent stood. It was noticeable from a fair distance, being the only tent that was more than six feet in height. In front of it was a large open area that had a fire going.
“Command tent. You’ll have to use this to find your way through camp.” He turned around and looked over the tents and that’s when Shara saw the attempt at camp organization. The tents spread from this central point with open grass paths breaking the tents into sections. Taeri pointed up at the flags flying from the first tent in each cluster.
“Flag tent for troop commanders. Their bitches put their tents behind them—roughly. Provisioners for each troop are roughly halfway back through the tents—armorers and other tradespeople tents are in the same area.” Taeri leaned as if to judge the uneven pathways the men haphazardly made between the sections. “I don’t know whose bitch you are, but I’m sure Hafi can give you some guidance there once he’s had a few whiskeys and doesn’t want to beat you for the stunt you pulled earlier.”
Shara looked away from Taeri’s gaze and up to the flags.
“So—ten flags, roughly a hundred men per troop?”
“Don’t get all numbers fancy on me. The men go behind their troop commanders. Only other things I know is where to get food and alcohol and how to stay out of the vanguard.”
Shara smiled over at Taeri, “Well them, stop holding out on me and give me the good stuff.”
“That there is Dragon. I am pretty sure they got the name cause their provisioner cooks everything with so much extra spice, their breath is spicy from a dozen feet away. I hope the Xenai have dull senses of smell or they’ll lead ‘em right to camp. But it is good as hell. If you need some extra heart palpitations after a battle, Dragon’s food will give them to ya... Over here is Shadow. Creative fuckers with a black flag with no symbol, so it’s fucking invisible at night. But, they have the only brewer in the army as part of their troop. Well, brewer’s son—but, he knows the alcohol trade well enough that he is working on a still.” Taeri paused and looked over at James, “You’re a quiet fucker, aren’t you? Should I point you to where you can get some play to relax?”
James offered a polite smile, “I guess I was hoping to get more than food, alcohol and—uh, gambling tips cause of the whole war thing happening.”
Taeri guffawed at him, “They’ll tell you where to stand, fight, and probably die later. The camp isn’t for any of those things; it’s for the livin’. Unless you’re on guard duty, then you’re standing, maybe fighting and dying. I wasn’t talking about any gambling.” He looked back to Shara, “Is he always this uptight? Gonna be hard for him to maneuver in battle if he’s already got something shoved up—”
“Taeri! ...He kind of is, you know? I think he’s just trying to be proper. Someone should have told him the world is ending, I guess.”
James caught her eye and Shara saw the annoyance in his own as she continued, “Come on, James. Perk up! I mean, I know this is a very very serious war and all, but if we can’t have some fun, then what’s the point of fighting? You’ll get to shank Xenai later.”
“Probably tomorrow,” Taeri chimed in, “They aren’t far back now... Whatever happens—protect the brewer in Shadow. If we live, we’ll ne
ed the alcohol. And only like half of it for drinking! ...Maybe seventy-five percent. Or ninety.”
The command tent flap opened and Hafi stepped through, the irritation clear in his voice as he spoke to them, “You two, Phoenix is short a few men—they have extra tents set up you can use for now. Since you both have a special duty, you’re not part of any troop. Go the fuck to bed. Taeri was right—early day tomorrow.”
“I’m over in Drunken Monkey squad. Hafi let me name it; the flag even has a monkey with a drink in its hand—but then he refuses to call it anything but Monkey and he wouldn’t even let me take the brewer’s kid. He’s as tight assed as this kid.” He gestured towards James then waved toward the cluster of tents to the immediate right of the command tent, “Enjoy your time with Phoenix. Empty tents are probably at the edge of the camp.”
He stalked back into the command tent.
Shara noticed James shift uncomfortably at that news. She hugged Taeri, “They should have just put you on the flag. Goodnight, Drunken Monkey!”
Taeri threw his arms up in the air as he walked a few tent sections down from where she stood, “I bet the leatherworkers could make me a neat monkey suit. I’d happily sit on the Source-caster perch and throw my shit down on the Xenai.”
Without giving Shara another chance to keep the joke going, he slipped into the tents. James looked like a lost dog, so Shara said nothing as she turned down the path to the Phoenix tents and smiled into the darkness and wondered if the rest of the camp would be as fun as Taeri.
29
Fiher
The camp was dark by the time Fiher watched the girl and the old man stroll into the small town made of tents and cots. Occasional campfires flickered throughout the tents as the old man weaved his way toward the largest tent near the center. The girl followed, her shoulders squared and her head up, spoiling for a fight. They had not gone far into the camp before Fiher could no longer see the girl. Soon after, his sense of her got lost in the feelings of the thousands of people in the camp. For once, his Intuition would not let him pick her out of the crowd. There were too many souls packed too tightly. What could he do now, as a Watcher that could not watch his mark?
He circled the camp, sizing it up as he went. There were too many men—no chance they would ever leave a gap for him to infiltrate. Have I come all this way for nothing? He continued to lap the camp, hoping for some hint of the girl’s presence. As he made his rounds of the camp, he sensed the men on watch, looking into the shadows that he easily crept through without detection. Why even bother putting Terrans on watch? Useless. He continued his path, expanding his search to include the Old Man and the boy whom she had spent so much time talking to. It didn’t help.
Finally, he gave up. It was a few hours until the sun would rise. He made his way to the top of a small hill at the rear of the camp, peering through the tree-line at the camp below. Thousands of members of The Pact-- and he knew they were nothing compared to the number of Xenai. He closed his eyes and tuned himself to the camp of his kind just a few miles away. He could feel their presences, mingling together like an amalgam of souls. They didn’t project an array of different thoughts and feelings, like the army beneath him. A singular purpose united them.
He felt a weight bear down on his mind and pushed it away. No sermons tonight. Not for me. If he could not follow the girl, he would need a different distraction. Shifting his thoughts away from the massive army, he thought of elevators. He was particularly fond of the ones that went so fast in tall structures that the person who carried the memory had felt their ears pop from pressure. He strung a series of memories together, knowing that they did not, in fact, belong together. To him, it was marvelous to step out of a speeding elevator onto soft dirt. The smell of strange foods assaulted him from the memory. Large metal structures were spinning and whirling around, flashing strange colors from their lights and blasting out music that rang more than it sang.
“Step right up! Hit the bell and you win a prize!” A man in striped clothing screamed at the crowd. He handed anyone who came up to him an oversized mallet. No one hit the bell, not even the large man who had stepped up with a smirk. The memory moved on, even though Fiher wanted to keep watching the man in the striped pants.
The scenery shifted to the crowd as the creator of memory swerved through the masses of people. It paused and looked at a stand where people were walking away with plates full of sweet doughy noodles, coated in white powder. His gaze shifted to the long line of people waiting for their own plates, and then he began to move again.
Fiher felt the exhaustion in his own body taking over, pushing through the memory. He let himself drift off, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to sit on one of the twirling metal machines. Perhaps through another memory in another time.
30
James
The sound of each movement around James seemed to crackle through the crisp morning air as he walked in the crowd of soldiers moving toward the front lines. The heavy footfalls trampled across the fallen leaves, no man looking where they stepped for fallen branches and sticks. James watched as the men fumbled awkwardly, paying too much attention to their surroundings. Half the men would show up to the battle with twisted ankles, he felt. Every time one stumbled, the others jumped in anticipation of an ambush as the scuffle broke through the monotonous sound of their march.
He sighed to himself as he refocused on the ground, afraid he may injure himself from watching the others. The march was steady, and so the urgency of their movement was easy to forget. Before dawn, officers had awoken them and told them to prepare to move out. The Xenai had moved and were likely to take the favorable position on the hill between the armies. They could place their Source-casters on the hill, protected by the mass of their army on all sides. No doubt Hafi and the other commanders had intended to do the same. The Pact army was closer to the hill, but the Xenai had already progressed far enough to overcome the disadvantage of their camp’s placement.
They had barely been marching for fifteen minutes before the bulk of the army relaxed into a slow pace. An occasional officer swept through the ranks, atop one of their few horses, yelling for them to step faster. Once the officer was down the line, the pace slowed. The men moved in this fashion for an hour, speeding up only to be forced to slow by the men in front of them.
The sudden stop startled James. He ran into the man in front of him, as did each other soldier in his row. He felt the impact on his shield from the man behind him. The pressure of the men pushing into him took several minutes to let up. He could barely stand normally before calls from the officers came from both sides of their line, “Form up! Form up!”
From between the surrounding heads of the men, he could barely make out the slope of the hill. From his vantage point, the side of the hill looked black. The Xenai covered the entire slope. He reached back, unhooking his shield and pulling it around to the front, bumping the men around him.
He glanced around, looking for some place more open, realizing their own men had him pinned down. As he looked, a grating sound rose from the Xenai army. The sharp sounds of their language, when yelled by thousands of Xenai, sounded like a pack of dogs, trying to form words. The man in front of him took a step backwards into James. He pushed forward on his shield, forcing the man to stay in line. The rustling around him betrayed them all. The call of the Xenai had intimidated their army of farmers and artisans.
With a final sharp howl, the battle began.
James ran forward, lunging into a slide as he pulled his shield in front of him to catch the bolt of lightning. It hit square in the middle of the shield, where he had locked his sword into the slot. The man whose life he had just saved jumped up and ran back into the lines of friendly soldiers behind them, leaving James wide open. It took only a second for one of the Xenai to notice.
James scrambled to his feet as the Xenai rushed him, sword in hand and already swinging at James. There was no time to pull his own sword free from the shield. He raised
the shield to block the blow. The hit landed with enough force to push him back a few steps. The Xenai raised his sword again in an overhand blow and it met James’s shield with such force that it forced James to one knee. He watched the Xenai prepare for another blow. He waited for the downswing, then launched himself to the side, rolling over the sword and shield. Using his momentum to roll up onto his knees, he turned at the waist as he raised the shield over his head. He thrust it forward as hard as he could, stabbing the pointed bottom into the thigh of the Xenai. As the Xenai fell, he took the second to pull his sword off the shield. His heart was pounding with adrenaline and fury as he jabbed the sword into the Xenai’s back.
He spun to face the Xenai line, noticing the surrounding field had been abandoned by the Pact soldiers. The pounding of his heart amplified, and he felt a jolt of terror spread through his body. He stood with a few other stragglers against an advancing wall of Xenai.
Shit!
He turned and ran.
31
Shara
Shara twirled her hair around her fingers, prepared to do her assigned duty and protect the retreat, but as the battle played out ahead of her, she became more and more unhappy about it. As the cries and wails and the slamming of weapons grew louder when the Xenai pushed through their front lines, Shara moved forward a dozen feet to climb on top of the medical cart that was still far behind the fray, brushing the dried blue paint flecks off of her hands as she stood on her toes to look over the field before her. From the higher vantage point, she could see the faint shape of the front lines as they shifted and buckled under the pressure from the Xenai. No matter how much power she sacrificed for reach, her source wouldn’t get even close to the front. The memory of pushing people with source while trapped in the Underground crowd was strong. She tried to ignore the desire to force her way to the front as she glanced around in every direction for something — anything — she could do. There was nothing.
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