Hope in the Shadows

by Umut Ersezer

  Both him and Brun drank deeply, Volare making sure to top up his containers. Then they set off again.

  **

  They walked along the stream before finally reaching Whitesand Beach. The name did indeed reflect the colour of the sand for it was blindingly white under the sun. Volare encouraged Brun to leave the greenery behind and walk onto the soft white sand ahead of him. He needed a clearer view of what was around him. He looked in all directions but saw nothing, the beach stretched as far as he could see in both directions.

  There was nothing. I’m so stupid, I followed a voice in my head. I’m going crazy, and I don’t even realise it. I should have gone to the city.

  Volare held the artefact, and although it still felt warm, no voices came. He set up his camp, he would decide what to do next tomorrow morning.

  **

  “Rise Volare, for I need you. You must find me, I grow weak. I must have the key, we must bond. COME TO ME!”

  Volare’s eyes shot open in a panic, his heart racing. Was that real or a dream? He reached for his metal artefact and felt it grow hot, almost burning. What’s happening? It must be real. The voice called it a key… “A key!” Volare exclaimed.

  He rushed out of his sleeping tent to look around but saw nothing once more. There must be something here, this must have opened the cave I was stuck in, maybe there’s one here too.

  Volare paused for a moment in his excitement, do I actually want to find it? he thought. He packed his camp, filled his stomach and set himself the task of discovering the truth of this artefact he had been carrying around. He held it, but it had lost the intense heat from before, “where are you!?” Volare shouted out. No answer.

  He started walking around his camp while holding the artefact, it seemed to grow hotter when he was walking in a particular direction. Could it be a compass of some sort? he wondered. He would commit to this idea, mainly because he had no other.

  He mounted Brun who nickered in approval and set off in the direction he thought the artefact was leading him. They walked for hours, but Volare never let go of his artefact or resolve, he still wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought he could feel it growing hotter still in his hand.

  Volare noticed a depression in the sand ahead, it was hard to see, but it looked slightly different to the sand around it, as if it was sitting on something flat beneath. He walked Brun over it, leaving footprints in the unusually neat and flat sand below.

  The depression was much larger than he first thought now that he was on top of it. It must have stretched fifty metres wide and long. Volare got off his horse to inspect the sand closer. He dug, as deep as his elbow and then his shoulder, Volare kept digging, until his fingertips were tingling.

  The artefact was nearly burning his chest it had grown so hot, it must be here, but there’s nothing other than sand, he thought.

  Brun kicked at the sand impatiently, he was growing bored of watching Volare digging a hole. Volare could barely reach any deeper when he felt something hard and cold. He peered into the hole, but it was difficult to see into its depth.

  He tried to scoop away the sand still covering the hardness. It’s…metal! This is it! Volare, now invigorated with new energy dug more, widening the hole.

  “Yes, it’s here, I found it!” he called out to Brun.

  He looked up, absorbing the scale of digging he would have to do to uncover the whole area. I can’t dig this entire place up, it would take years! No, there must be a way. How did I open the cave?

  Volare conjured up the memories from when he was trapped in the cave and carefully began retracing his steps.

  He removed the artefact from his neck and held it in his palm, it was so hot. He pointed it to the ground and imagined a door opening, open, his mind commanded.

  The artefact glowed with the familiar blue hue from before. The ground gave a tremendous shudder, the whole surface below was alive with vibration and rumbling noises. Volare grew unsteady on his feet, nearly losing his balance. The sand beneath his very feet was shifting, roiling with life. Volare grabbed Brun’s reins, who was panicked and rearing up.

  They ran across the sand until they thought they reached safety. They turned back to watch in astonishment, as a giant hole was opening up in the ground.

  The sand that lay on top was now flowing into it, like a sand waterfall. Bigger and bigger it grew, swallowing up an ocean of sand until all fell silent. Volare and Brun stared at each other, sharing a moment of bewilderment.

  Volare crept to the edge of the now gaping hole in the sand, Brun following more hesitantly behind him while giving snorts of warning. They peered down, seeing a staircase, much larger than he had ever seen before, now covered in sand, leading deeper into the ground, deep enough to swallow the light, leaving only blackness.

  It was foreboding, but Volare’s curiosity was already driving his legs downward. He looked back toward the ocean, wondering if the high tide would reach the opening and flood what lay beneath the surface.

  Brun had also made his way down a couple of steps, he was a confident and able beast. Volare tried to turn Brun around and push him back out onto the sand, “wait for me out there boy”, he said to Brun.

  The horse neighed, shaking its head back and forth, climbing further down to stand next to Volare.

  “Alright then, we do it together,” Volare said.

  He held Brun’s reins with a smile and the two of them descended deeper into the earth.

  All was black, all was silent but for the nervous breathing and movements of Brun. “It’s okay Brun, I’m here, and I’ll find us some light.” I need my torch, I need some light before moving further Volare thought.

  At that moment, the artefact Volare held glowed blue, and the walls around him came alive with the same blue illuminated symbols he saw in the cave.

  It was beautiful. Geometric shapes and symbols lined all the wall space available, leading him deeper. Volare could now see the bottom, it finished with a platform for him and Brun to rest upon.

  A corridor of massive proportions stretched ahead of them, only part of the way being illuminated, leaving the depths still shrouded in darkness.

  “You could fit several crags through this corridor at once,” Volare thought out loud.

  There was a distant sound of rushing air, but Volare couldn’t quite tell its source.

  The two of them set out into the darkness with Volare willing the symbol covered walls to come alive with their reassuring blue glow. As they reached the end of the corridor, the last symbols came to life, illuminating what lay within.

  Volare gasped at the sight, for never in his life did he think he would see anything like this.

  ** Chapter 14 **

  The Key To The Gods

  Calidum was growing used to the routine of the passing days. There hadn’t been an attack on the garrison for weeks and certainly not even a whisper of attack since he had arrived at Honour Haven.

  The enemy seemed to have gone quiet since the reinforcement of the garrisons. Each morning was met with Captain Gregibus throwing open the doors to his barracks, barking orders to rise and prepare for the day.

  He was considerably smaller than Cal, in both height and build. He attempted to overcompensate for this by yelling extra loud and behaving aggressively for no apparent reason.

  He didn’t command much respect from the other captains as far as Cal could tell. The others seemed to always be walking away from him as if trying to avoid his presence altogether. Some called him simply Greg out of his earshot.

  Men and women carted to this garrison had since been split into different groups to perform specific jobs for the garrison. Hundreds were brought here, maybe thousands, he couldn’t be sure.

  Honour Haven along with the other garrisons on the front lines had ballooned in proportions, buildings and fortifications towering into the skies, keeping a watchful eye of the lands surrounding them.

  The walls had been built up to be insurmountable by the darks
pawn, threatened further by massive ballistae and trebuchets. Within the walls of Honour Haven, all seemed safe to the outside threats, providing what many believed was a false sense of security that permeated the garrison’s population.

  “Here we go again,” said Webil. A man in which Cal had made friends with. He was of similar build to Cal, but much younger and had blonde hair with hazelnut eyes and sharp features. “How long you reckon they’ll train us like this?” he asked.

  “You’ve asked me that before Webil, my answer is the same,” Cal said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  Webil tended to repeat himself and had other quirky mannerisms like biting his nails when he was nervous that Cal found endearing…most of the time.

  “I know but I just really wanna know when I can get back home. My missus will be worried y’know.”

  “I know,” replied Cal. His own thoughts also constantly drifting to home. He wondered how his wife and boys were coping without him.

  Would they be able to still meet supply quotas? Probably not, but what did it matter, this garrison itself had grown into a large town, producing its own necessities and importing whatever it lacked from surrounding lands and Ozos.

  Humans knew how to wage war, both quick and brutal and also the long and drawn out. There was appetite, seeded deep within humans to conquer and expand.

  With the influence of the gods diminishing, boundaries of the teachings were being pushed, sometimes trampled all together. The invasion of eshin land was one such trampling. Cal had always been ashamed of his part in the invasion.

  Cal and Webil were part of a platoon of thirty men, simply named Platoon 7. They were a misfit bunch. Men from all walks of life, the only thing they seemed to have in common were stature. Athletic ability or the will to wield a sword didn’t seem to be a factor, a departure from convention that Cal noted early. Usually, the army only accepted the best of recruits to serve and fight in Ozos.

  The two kingdoms of Ozos almost by tradition were constantly in conflict with each other, only to sign new peace treaties that would last until the next generation of rulers with fantasies of grandeur.

  King Hastam had grown bored with the peace, wanting to test the mettle of his army and stretch his domain, without destabilising Ozos itself. His solution was to invade Dritura instead.

  Platoon 7 dressed into their training garments of simple but durable white cotton shirts with lace-up sleeves and collars, black cotton pants and leather boots. Led by Captain Gregibus, they marched across the dull brown dirt yard, being met with the sights, smells and sounds of an awakening town.

  The blacksmiths were warming their forges, carpenters hauling timber to construction sites, traders carting in new wares for a new day of business, it reminded everybody of home which was likely the intention.

  Other platoons led by their captains were emerging from their barracks, they were all walking with their heads lowered, as if in resignation, to their assigned kitchens to receive their daily breakfast of a bowl of gruel with vegetables and cold hard bread.

  It was bland, to say the least, but was sometimes supplemented with salted, dried meat. If they were lucky, they got a small portion of fruit as well. It didn’t help that the kitchen served this same meal for lunch and dinner as well. The act of eating itself had turned into a drill to be completed within a set time, only serving to provide fuel to train.

  The new recruits were paid a meagre wage, just enough to occasionally buy personal items and treats from the newly established stores of the garrison town. Some had taken to gambling this wage in some effort for entertainment.

  “I like this gruel,” said Webil. “It’s got a nice nutty taste, reminds me of my ma’s gruel.”

  Cal looked at him with a raised eyebrow but couldn’t help giving a smile to his friend. Only Webil could find positives in this situation.

  “Alright, men! Get’yur arses up, we got trainin to do!” shouted Gregibus.

  There was a slight groan from the platoon. The monotony of each day was wearing them down, but there was nothing else to do but train. The darkspawn hadn’t attacked, some men even doubted their existence despite the stories.

  Cal finished up his breakfast and headed out to the yard to collect his dulled training sword and shield from the weapon racks. Cal had shown himself to be competent in combat but didn’t want to reveal himself truly, for he still wasn’t sure what role was expected of him in this war.

  One thing he was sure to do, however, was train Webil so that he could defend himself. The young man had never held a sword and shield before, he was a simple farmer from a village. Cal forced himself not to grow attachments to Webil or any of the other men, if they were going to be forced into battle, he knew the fate that awaited them, more so than most here.

  Drillmaster Terebro stepped into the training space, a hardened man with many scars interweaving across his face and arms. He had aged beyond his prime, without ascending military ranks and was newly assigned as drillmaster. This made him especially angry and resentful towards his new students.

  He only ever had one emotion scrawled across his face, scornful anger. The morning brought the hardest of the day’s training, with the sun still low, and the air crisp in the lungs.

  The afternoon saw them practicing various stances and postures. Building muscle memory for specific movements to attack and defend. Gregibus had ensured all his men were in attendance then made his way off to attend his other duties.

  “MAN UP!” Terebro barked.

  “I hate him,” Webil whispered, as he and Cal faced each other.

  Unfortunately, not quiet enough. Terebro marched up to the two of them.

  “Did you have something to say recruit?” Terebro asked as he pushed his face into Webil’s.

  “N, n, n, no, sir,” Webil stammered.

  Terebro drew his hand into a fist, sinking it deep into Webil’s gut. Cal looked on shocked at the aggression as Webil collapsed onto his knees, holding his stomach. Terebro formed up to take another swing, but Cal caught it this time, holding Terebro’s arm with surprising strength.

  He turned back towards Cal, glaring at him, his anger didn’t seem to have a limit. Cal still holding the arm looked at what he had done, which was make the situation a lot worse. The faces around him were one of disbelief, platoon 7 learned very quickly to not antagonise their drillmaster, for they would all be punished for the grievances of one. Cal’s action would bring pain upon the others and rejection from the group.

  “Drillmaster Terebro, how goes the training, I trust that my men are being treated well?” Trajan asked as he approached the escalating situation.

  He often walked the training yards inspecting his new recruits. He locked eyes with Cal which was when he realised he was still holding Terebro’s arm, mere seconds now feeling like an eternity. He let go.

  “Yes, High Commander, I was just teaching some manners,” replied Terebro.

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Trajan while looking down upon the still collapsed Webil. “I thank you for your efforts Terebro, however, do be careful to leave the men in fighting condition.”

  “Yes, of course, High Commander,” replied Terebro while giving a slight bow of the head.

  Trajan turned and walked off to continue his inspections. Cal had trouble figuring out Trajan, he had shown signs of both cruelty and compassion, it was confusing.

  He was more used to dealing with one-dimensional military personalities like Terebro, but Trajan seemed to have a much deeper sense of purpose and identity. One which Cal couldn’t put a finger on.

  Terebro glared at Cal, “this isn’t over,” while spitting next to Webil.

  “C’mon, up you get,” Cal said while helping Webil up.

  Webil had tears in his eyes, by the gods, how is he going to face the darkspawn, he was barely a man Cal wondered. Cal renewed his resolve to teach Webil to be stronger. They clashed their swords together as they began their morning sparring.

  The day dragged on a
s the recruits practiced Terebro’s various teachings of stances and swings. Admittedly Cal was impressed with the techniques being shown. They were basic but well-structured and reliable in real combat situations.

  Cal had long surpassed them but was glad to pass on some of his more advanced knowledge to Webil.

  “You’re really good at this! Where did you learn it all?” Webil asked as they engaged one another.

  “Oh I’m part of a military family, my grandfather fought in the Ozos Wars when he was young. I never joined myself, but my father and I would spar for fun, he taught me some things,” lied Cal.

  “Ozos Wars?”

  “You haven’t heard of it? It was when the two kingdoms of Ozos were at war with each other, bloody mess it was. King Hastam himself usurped the crown prematurely by killing his mad father. An act the courts overlooked so grateful was everyone for the turn of change. Hastam went on to sign peace treaties and end the war.”

  “Oh yes, I know of this history. We just call it different back home,” said Webil. In Clotos, we call it the Terram Aggression.”

  “I see, I guess that does make more sense given it was Terram trying to expand its borders to the north,” concluded Cal.

  Webil smiled and swung his sword, Cal deflected with his shield.

  “I guess we’re re-enacting history then! Terram against Clotos, who will win!?” Webil proclaimed as he swung his sword, extenuating his movements as if he was in a play.

  Cal joined in for a laugh. He arced his swings dramatically high and wide, dancing more than fighting. It was moments like these that made living in the garrison bearable.

  **

  The sunset was always a welcome sight for the recruits, it not only gave a dazzling light show against the clouds above but signalled the day of training was approaching its end. The recruits would receive a small payment of 2 silver pieces to purchase personal items in the ever-increasing variety of stores popping up in the garrison town.

  Their freedom of movement was still restricted, however. Guards patrolled each district to ensure recruits were not straying from their allocated section of the garrison. They were kept separate from the soldiers who lived closer to the frontline wall.