Ashener's Calling

by David Partelow

  Releasing Mason, Josaph lunged forward, his rifle still in hand. Raising it, he succeeded in unleashing an urge that had taken him since the beginning of the conversation. He slammed into the captain’s abdomen with his rifle butt and knocked the pompous look off the captain’s face. As the captain fell back, Josaph raised his rifle at him. Josaph knew he had the one shot, and if that was it then it was going into the filth in his sights.

  The captain, while winded for a moment, returned quickly upright. His face was red and contorted, but the armor he wore had absorbed a good portion of the impact. He smiled at Josaph then as the madness of his gaze increased in tempo. “You stupid, stupid pile of waste. Oh, before you go, we’re going to have a time with you, so we are, eh boys? Promise me not to die too soon on me boy. Promise me please,” he crooned.

  Josaph readied himself for death. It was then that a voice behind him covered the distance. “He will do no such thing. His torment ends now. You and your men will cause no more death on this day or any other.” Josaph heard courage and justness in that voice. And for some reason, it gave him a sense of hope. Josaph turned his head and his eyes met with a surprise.

  Beyond the troops that surrounded him was a single man. He stood stoically amidst the storm before him. The man held a good height and a fighter’s build with short, auburn hair. Josaph could not make out the color of his eyes but could see no fear in them either. What really drew Josaph’s attention was his gear.

  Sleek dark clothing conformed easily to his body. Upon the man’s torso rested a chiseled chest plate, its coloring a deep wine red. His armor was completed by the pieces upon his forearms and almost knee-high boots. Fingerless gloves rested on strong hands gripping a powerful staff. Upon the man’s face rested a mask that shrouded his features in the black and red hues of his armor and clothing.

  The so-called captain turned his attention to the new distraction. “Bold words there, friend, whoever you may be. But you're at the wrong place and wrong time. Ah hell, you know the drill. You can join the rest of the chums over here now.” He motioned for his men with the wave of a careless hand. “Kill him.”

  Five of the captain’s men turned their guns on the newcomer. In near unison, they shot a volley that was sure to be certain death. The soldiers fired with near-pinpoint accuracy. Josaph would have expected quick death for the masked warrior. Nevertheless, the outcome was not the one he expected.

  The warrior dropped the staff from his hands. Without a thought, he raised his arms. His next motions were blurred as he used the armor on his forearms to deflect all five shots with uncanny precision. The men fired their second volley and met the same results. Josaph watched in awe as searing blue bolts were deftly batted about. Using his foot, the new opposition then whipped the staff up from the dust and back into his hands.

  The captain was now growing furious. He looked as though subjection to another moment of failure would surely make his head burst. “Tossers! I told you to kill him! Now do it! Do it now!” The veins in their captain’s neck and head began to bulge. Anger-lust crept into him, making him more and more dangerous by the second. His men, knowing this mode of their commanding officer, wasted no time and approached the newcomer at close range.

  Swarming, the captain’s men extended the double bayonets of their rifles. There was a distinct scrape of metal protracting from the barrel’s end. Two ten-inch blades of equal length jutted out easily from the tips of their rifles. The soldiers lunged in turn, each hoping to let their blade soak in the blood of the new arrival. However, none of them could get close enough for such a strike. Josaph and the captain both watched the death dance in hushed silence.

  It wasn’t that the captain’s men had not been well trained., for their skills were quite exceptional. However, not one of them came close to matching the abilities of their target. The staff danced and struck out gracefully in the hands of the curiously armored man, who seemed able to flow around any attack. His body was never where his opponents struck. As he moved, he administered his own, almost casual counterattacks.

  By the time the rest of the captain’s men could comprehend, five of their own had fallen. They now charged their new and deadly foe, no longer perceiving him to be a mere annoyance. Some readied their bayonets while others fired as they approached. Their target merely adjusted his position while fighting to avoid impact. A renewed battle cry filled the air as the rest enfolded the masked staff wielder, yet some never made it that far.

  One of the charging soldiers found himself caught completely unaware. As he rushed blindly at his target, his feet became entangled. Another staff had been thrown, and with perfect timing it caught the legs of the approaching soldier sending him face first upon a jut of protruding rock. More warriors, similar in dress and weaponry to that of the newcomer joined the engagement. Josaph couldn’t guess where they had come from.

  As Josaph watched, five more warriors entered combat as if they had appeared out of thin air. He was momentarily surprised to see that two of these new combatants were women. This surprise faded quickly though as these women engaged their opponents with the same precision as their comrades. Josaph found their beauty and skill both mesmerizing. He also decided that his moment of opportunity had arrived. Two soldiers, along with the captain were still half guarding what remained of his comrades. If he were to make a shot of it and live, this was his chance.

  Pivoting on his heel, Josaph spun around to face the captain again. Quickly, he used his free hand to slap the muzzle pointed at him away. The captain's gun fired carelessly as he did so. Josaph wasted no time as he swung his own rifle up in haste. Pulling the trigger, the blood that spattered upon only confirmed that his shot had been true.

  At point blank range, the rifle that Josaph carried tore into the captain’s face as if it were nothing. Now removed of his ability to breathe or function, the captain toppled backwards, arms flailing as his body rebelled against the fact that he was already dead. Josaph found himself knocked to the ground by the sudden impact. He watched as the captain finished his fall and grew motionless. Around Josaph and his surviving comrades, a battle waged on between the desperate remnants of the soldiers who killed his friends and the precise and uniquely equipped masked warriors.

  The two brigands flanking the captain covered their faces as parts of their commanding officer splattered upon them. Josaph was relieved to see that courage had not yet completely left his friends. They sprang upon the two captors and removed their weapons before ending their lives. Not knowing just what to do next, they did the same thing that Josaph had opted to do. They watched the fight that now waged around them.

  To their surprise, the survivors witnessed a numerically superior foe with long-range rifles decimated by a handful of warriors, outnumbered five to one and carrying only hand-to-hand weapons. In all the stories they had heard, in all the things the group had seen, nothing equaled the ability of these men and women. These masked warriors were unequaled in strength, speed and skill. One by one through staff, fist, or foot, they defeated soldier after soldier until only they remained. Checking the carnage, the masked combatants confirmed that the threat was undone and turned their attention to Josaph and his remaining few friends.

  The first warrior on the scene gave a few instructions to the others. Instantly they spread out, checking for survivors. He then turned his focus to Josaph. Their eyes met and quickly Josaph felt the inner force of the man. His will was absolute and Josaph could feel its weight on him. Even so, the masked stranger was at peace. There was no lust for mayhem in his gaze, only a sense of duty and purpose. Josaph found it hard to continue looking into those eyes but found the determination to do so.

  The warrior spoke then. His voice was tranquil and strangely uplifting. Josaph found sincerity and depth that were comforting somehow. Behind him, a grumble of thunder stirred in the sky. “Young soldier, are you alright?”

  For long moments, Josaph looked at him, not knowing quite what to say. In the end, he only mustered a no
d of his head. He watched the warrior study his eyes and face. Josaph surmised he was verifying the truth. Josaph returned his attention to the mask. The blended shades of red and black became almost cinnamon under the dust and in the light. Through the sweat on his hair, Josaph could see the firm straps that held the warrior’s mask to his face. It was thin and tight enough to look like a second, colorful skin.

  Finally, Josaph’s voice found him. “I am fine sir. But many of my comrades are not.” Josaph motioned at his friend Mason, who now rested painfully upon the ground. Before Josaph could stop himself, the words blurted out of him faster than he had hoped. “Who are you? And please tell me, why did you save us? I have to know,” he said.

  For the first time, Josaph saw the warrior smile under his mask. It was a pleasant sight. “We are warriors, Ro’Nihn as we are called, from the clans of Axiter, a town in southern Vallance.” He pointed to his comrades around him. “That young man is Grahnis of the Falloy clans. Over there is Reddrak of Fellane. The two siblings garbed in their family colors are Kylynne and Willem of the Blackwells. The young woman to your right is Gianna of the Redgrove.” The warrior of red and black touched his chest. “I am Vladen of the Achylles clans. I’m sorry we could not reach you sooner. Our mission and survival have kept us on the move. Nevertheless, when we sensed what was happening here we could not leave you to die. You and your comrades have our condolences.”

  Josaph turned to find the other Ro'Nihn tending to the wounded of his entourage. He watched techniques alien to his knowledge that bordered on magical to his eyes. The five fighters, strangers as they were, gave sincere care to his friends; soldiers who would have treated them with aggression in return had they met under different circumstances. Josaph observed as they staunched bleeding, brought soldiers back to consciousness and eased the pain of young, disoriented minds. What moved him the most was the fact that he could see regret in their eyes, the frustration of not being able to do more. Despite all that they had done, they still felt guilt over what they had not been able to prevent.

  Josaph still did not understand. These men and women were probably carrying out missions against his nation. They could have been scouts for all he knew, evaluating strengths and weaknesses of Thorne. But for some reason, they had stopped and saved his life. He would live to see another say because the enemy had rescued him from his own. It was finally too overwhelming to bear. “But we’re enemies. Our nations have been for years. Why would you risk yourselves and your mission for us?”

  “What is your name?” Vladen took another step toward Josaph. His voice was soft, yet curious to the answer.

  “What?”

  “Your name, young warrior, I would much like to know it,” said Vladen.

  Josaph could see he was not lying. The young Thorne private bowed his head. “Josaph. Pearce. Josaph Pearce, sir.”

  Vladen of the Achylles nodded his head. The Ro'Nihn never relinquished his sense of calm. “Josaph of Pearce, fate would have us meet today.” Vladen extended his right hand and placed it on Josaph’s shoulder. “You are of Thorne and we are of Vallance yes, but it is humanity we share. And no man deserved what you endured today.”

  The one Vladen called Kylynne gathered his attention for a moment. Josaph sat silently as she whispered into his ear. For a breath, the young soldier watched as her long, billowy hair danced on a gust of wind around her mask. She went back to her brother as Vladen returned his focus to Josaph. “I am sorry, Josaph of Pearce, but time presses us.” He turned away again, delivering a string of orders to the others.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Josaph asked.

  Vladen returned to face Josaph. “Let us just say that we were sent with a message from Vallance and it met your leaders with an ill favor. They did not like what our offer entailed.”

  Josaph could not deny is desire to know more. “And what did it entail?”

  Vladen regarded him gravely. “We asked only for peace between our countries, Josaph, nothing more. However, it is not to be.”

  “Are you certain?"

  Vladen nodded solemnly. “I have three dead friends and a pursuing search party to prove it. We were assaulted almost immediately upon arrival, our vehicles destroyed. Whatever intentions your leaders hold, it is not for harmony between our nations.” Vladen looked again at the others as they resettled their gear for travel. “Perhaps fate shall let us meet again. I believe you know the way. Lead your comrades on. I wish you a safe journey, Josaph. Farewell to you.” Josaph watched as each of Vladen’s comrades put their right hands over their chests, bowing their heads just slightly. Without a word, they ran off with dazzling speed into the approaching night.

  Vladen and Gianna watched their fellow Ro'Nihn speed off toward the Vallance borders. It was with slow understanding that Josaph realized they were not to follow. “What about you two?” Josaph motioned to the other Ro'Nihn in the distance. “You’re not going with them?”

  Vladen and Gianna exchanged a glance before responding to Josaph. “No, I’m afraid that we are not.” Josaph watched the acceptance grow in Vladen’s eyes. The resolution in his features and voice was inspiring. This was a man and a woman who accepted death if it meant saving their comrades. “We are to be the decoys. Our hope is to frustrate our pursuers long enough to buy time for our friends. With our numbers and without transportation, I fear that is all that we can do.” Vladen looked to the east. “Come Gianna. May your gods be with you, Josaph of Pearce.” Without another word, without the slightest hint of hesitation, the two struck off deeper into the Passing Plains.

  May my gods be with me, Josaph thought. So, they are not godless or soulless after all. “Vladen, wait!” Vladen halted in his tracks as Gianna continued. Josaph approached the Ro'Nihn of Axiter. He realized his voice was faltering again. The more his mind raced, the more difficult speaking became. "I don’t know what to say. For what you did, for what you didn’t have to do and for what you are on your way to do, I–” It was as far as he made before it all escaped him.

  It did not matter that the words had evaded him, for somehow, Vladen knew what he wanted to say. The Ro'Nihn nodded sagely. Bowing his head, his right fist touched the armor plate over his heart. “I sense a good man within you, Josaph of Pearce. And I wish you well. May peace fill our days.” Vladen turned again forward to join Gianna.

  Josaph watched them leave in silence. Around him, his surviving comrades moaned in pain and confusion. Those unscathed stared into the distance along with Josaph. The turn of events had left them all in disbelief. There was much information to absorb and when it was all added together it still didn’t make any lick of sense. All that remained true for Josaph were the incessant questions about what patriotism truly meant. We have been assaulted by our own, saved by our enemy and live on when we should have been killed. Who is the real enemy here and where does that leave us now?

  With heavy, racing thoughts, Private Josaph Pearce fished his medical supplies out of his pack and started to work.

  {4}

  Serra Landring sat hugging her knees and pulling long, thick brown curls from her face as she enjoyed the gentle morning. The sun pressed with careless ease, warming the air that danced on her skin. It was a gloriously pleasant day and reminder of things to come. Looking skyward, Serra’s shimmering blue eyes filled with rays of sunlit luster as she sought out shapes in the sparse, lazy clouds above.

  In the distance, a wagon closed in on the gates of Bannar. That must be more supplies for the Grand Harvest. It’s going to be another memorable event, she thought to herself happily. It was obvious that the wagon was chock full of goods. The approaching vehicle hovered along over the ground nearly a foot lower than on a day of normal use. Serra studied it as it passed through the gates into Bannar and out of sight.

  Serra often heard that once everything in these parts traveled on wheels. Of course, the days of wheels were before her time. For most of her first years, the advancement was magic to her. As she grew, its properties were explaine
d, something to do with the manipulation of forces through a magnetic process of attraction and repulsion. To Serra it was still magic and, in her heart, it would stay that way.

  “It sure is splendid out, wouldn’t you say?” she asked over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off Bannar, “or are you napping back there under that tree?”

  “Well if I was, I’m not anymore thanks to you,” was the reply. It was a boy’s voice, each syllable containing sly amusement.

  “But it is a nice day,” she said, "and shouldn't be wasted on the lazy."

  “I would have to say that it is a very nice day, one where a nap could be considered true appreciation.” This time the voice evidenced hints of humor.

  Serra surveyed the land again, trying to not let herself be frustrated. The town’s walls stretched high and proud. Just beyond the streets resided the castle-like keep towering over all. Rolling grasses and an endless green engulfed the entire landscape “In fact, it is one of the best days I have seen all season.”

  “What surprises me,” said the voice again, “is that you can see anything through that hair of yours at all.”

  Serra rolled her eyes and blew a lock of hair from her face only to have it return an instant later. She turned her head and shoulders to face him. The boy was sitting with legs crossed under the tree. His face wore a ridiculous, half-repressed smile. “I swear, Norryn Ashener, you truly can be impossible sometimes.”

  “That I can,” he acknowledged. "I mean, why should I deny it? I have been blessed with the gift of being extraordinarily good at it.”