Chapter 28: Pulling Strings

Alarik awoke first, and was glad to have done so. It allowed him to get to work right away on prepping the next move, as weary as he was. His very first action of the day was to immediately begin to carve markings in the trees to return from the same point, which they deemed at least close to a safe return home. The navigator, wherever he found himself to be, had gotten them far enough, and Alarik trusted the path was likely the best course of action to return along.

He didn’t wake his companions, but instead allowed them to slowly wake up as the sun and heat began to become unbearable for sleeping. It was well past dawn, and Alarik had already cooked and eaten one of the fish, preparing the second for when they arose from their slumber.

They packed in silence, but not the same kind as when Farmund was lost at the death of Edda. This was grim determination. It was the final leg of the first half of the journey, and they intended to make it. Each for their own purposes, but they were to finish the task even if Farmund’s cause came from simply living long enough to find something to be determined about.

It was nearly midday by the time they set out, a regret for Alarik seeing as how the sun was beating down on them terribly. It was an ordeal getting Farmund to pack, let alone leave the camp, and when they were finally ready to set out they had to wait for Inaya to slip back to camp as she forgot something of importance, whatever that meant. Fortunately, staying near enough to the water cooled the air to levels that made it tolerable, even if the treecover was not as strong. They ventured for hours, the sun slowly making a pass across the sky, until they finally noticed the river slowing to a more tolerable pace. It wouldn’t be long before they found a section that would at least possibly be crossable.

Alarik spent most of his travel time eyeing the other side of the river as they walked, a prize tantalisingly close but just out of reach. In some way he felt akin to Farmund when he charged in the water after Edda. There was a desperation bordering on the suicidal, an unwillingness to accept that at this current moment the task is impossible. Perhaps the current is not as strong as it looks. Maybe the river is not as deep as anticipated.

He’d shake the thought out of his head and keep moving, but always keeping one eye on the other side. It beckoned him on, even as his feet bled from blisters and his skin was roasting in the sun and covered with bites and scratches. His every muscle ached, calling for a moment’s respite, but the pain from finding himself on the wrong side of the river far exceeded the pain in his boots.

His head snapped forward. Across the way, he saw a sight he wished he hadn’t. A body was washed up along the other side of the bank, covered partly in weeds and soaked in the river’s water. Dashed upon the rocks, unmistakable, was Edda. The body was bloated and discoloured, but Alarik was certain that it was the duchess of Vanda.

Once the shock passed, there came the sudden realisation he had decisions to make. To leave her there to rot and to be picked apart by animals was an unacceptable fate for the unfortunate duchess, yet in the same breath the sight alone could send Farmund spiralling, dangerously so, especially this close to the midpoint of the journey. Always the task of the leader, to make the calls no one wanted to. The decision was made for him, however. The giant’s perceptive gaze caught his glimpses and started looking for himself.

Farmund stopped walking, the metal clanging of the few pieces of armour he had remaining no longer shifting with his heavy steps. “Edda,” he whispered. Dropping his things, he started towards the body on the other side, calling her name loudly. “Edda!” he yelled, his pained wails sending birds from their perches in the trees. Alarik and Inaya only winced, knowing just as well as him that there was nothing they could do. He walked to the edge of the river, causing Alarik to rub his bruised jaw, wondering if he’ll get another shot from the big man for having to pull him unwillingly from his own foolish charge into the water again.

Instead, he just crumpled.

In his youth, a trader from some far off region Alarik was unfamiliar with came through the city. He was generous enough to give him a toy to play with out of his pack of many strange and wondrous items. It was a man, dressed in the costume of a culture he didn’t recognize, and each limb was threaded towards a string that came from his back. If you would pull the string tight, the limbs would all come together and he would find his form. If you let the string go loose, the body would collapse in a pile. Build, collapse, build collapse. He loved the toy, and he kept it all through his childhood, hoping to one day give it to his own children before he began to suspect he was never to have any.

Looking at Farmund, he was reminded of that toy. He didn’t fall over, go to his knees, or sit down. Instead, a total collapse like every one of his powerful muscles decided to cohesively give up at the very same moment, the emotional devastation physically made manifest.

From there, he didn’t weep, nor cry out further. He just layed there, having stumbled into thick, knee high grass, undoubtedly assaulted by any number of insects or other small, biting creatures, and didn’t so much as twitch. Alarik shook his head, trying his best not to look across the way at the pale, bloated body. While he was not nearly as connected to Edda as was Farmund, the sight of her, a good person, a kind soul, washed up on the shore so unceremoniously was a cruelty he found difficult to cope with.

And yet he was the captain, and the captain was meant to deal with such things. Pulling the strings on a broken toy soldier. Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

Inaya would certainly be no help in the matter. She seemed to be slightly perturbed at having to wait to progress further and staying in the sun for longer than she would have wished. She was one step away from tapping her foot in impatience. There was a time when Alarik held a profound respect for the woman, seeing her indomitable spirit as something he could admire, but, ever since her friend’s passing, she had become so profoundly cold-hearted he was finding it difficult to find any common ground with her at all.

“What’s our plan? It’s hot here, and if we’re going to sit I’d prefer the shade,” she said nonchalantly.

“Are you truly so wretched now that you cannot give the man a moment to grieve?” Alarik said quietly back to her, trying not to cause Farmund to change from brokenhearted to furious, as he was not sure if he would survive even a misguided fit of anger. Again, he rubbed his hurt jaw.

She snorted. “Wretched? Wretched was what happened to my home. What you are witnessing now I’ve experienced so many times. So many times, that I could never experience it again because there were no more bodies left to grieve. Forgive me for lacking sympathy. Farmund!” she called out. “Your kind buries their dead, if I remember properly. Cross the river. Give her a grave. We all owe her that much.”

Farmund looked back at her. Briefly, he looked back at Edda’s corpse, grimacing and looking quickly away again. He closed his eyes tightly, but nodded.

Inaya stepped near Alarik and whispered only to him. “I meant it when I said I’ve been at that point many times before. He has his purpose now. You’ll get across the river. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that all you want? Start walking. He’ll join. If you allow him to grieve for too long we’ll die in the heat and that’ll be the end of us. You know as well as I do that time is of the essence. Start. Walking.” Inaya started marching forward again along the river. Slowly, more as a statement to the other two that she was indeed moving on. Turning, she called back to them. “Not far from here it looks like it calms significantly. At some point we must take our best opportunity.”

Alarik was standing slightly past Farmund, who had not yet stirred. “Come on, lad,” he whispered. “Time to move on.” The head still hung low, unflinching. The sun truly was becoming oppressive now. At least he told himself as much. In truth he found himself looking across the river as much as he had looked up towards the sun. “We’re close now. We’ve got to keep moving. Can’t wait in the grass forever, that’s not going to solve much of anything. I know… I know it hurts. I know it can’t be good for you to have seen that, but the river is right there, it’s so close, and we’re almost halfway through this blasted mission and then we can start to return home and end this dreadful business. But we’ve got to keep going.”

Somewhere up ahead, Inaya whistled for them.

His breathing grew heavier. He could see the river crossing where it slowed, calling him, beckoning him forward, his destiny just beyond the river. “Come now, Farmund. It’s time to go. I can’t carry you.” He ran a hand over his balding head, feeling the heat and recoiling at the pain of reddened skin. He shook his head for a moment, hating what he had to do. No, not had to - chose to do. “Farmund, I’m going to start to walk now. We’re that close. You’re to follow. It’s an order.”

His steps were heavy, in deep grass so thick due to the benefit of the water fueling its growth. He hoped the swishing sound of his legs through it would alert Farmund that they were moving forward. Desperately, he hoped that the same sound of a man passing through grass would happen behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back. Alarik bit his lip to the point it nearly bled. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. He had to keep going, and Farmund would have to join him eventually.

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Finally, he heard it. Farmund was behind him, moving through the grass as well, towards where the river was the most calm. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, the hot rainforest sun not the only thing making him sweat, Alarik pressed on.

In all his time in Khorsul, he would never have done that. He had men withering away in the desert with no chance at life, and he’d be the one to help carry them back through the heat on stretchers until the bearers fell as well. At the time, it felt admirable. No man left behind, every man living for the next.

He had left Farmund, whom he considered now a friend and comrade in arms, and was ready to walk away and leave him to defeat. That same old crumpled toy, with no one to pull the string.

Alarik, the people’s commander, the one that watches over his men, every last one of them. Win or lose. Didn’t fight for the brass, but for the ones at the sharp end.

Alarik, leaving a man alone in high grass because his mind broke.

Honour and glory in the Vanderik Empire.

The three moved in silence to the point in the river Inaya spoke of. It was indeed thinner, and somewhat less restless than before. Nevertheless, it was still wide enough to prove quite formidable.

“We won’t be able to carry our… well, much of anything, really,” Inaya stated.

Alarik nodded. “The distance from this point on is hardly anything. A day’s march, at the most. We’ll just need to cross it, get through the trees, and return to this point. We’ll break branches along the way and leave a path behind. Before we move, we’ll have to eat as much as we can to last us through the trip. Meagre supplies at best can be carried upon our backs or in a single pack as we travel. Bring a knife, for beasts and any food we can scavenge. I’m afraid your sword and armour will have to be left behind, Farmund.”

No one made a comment on the distance beyond the river. All this, for a day’s march that’s already been established on their maps. Alarik knew they understood the lengths he was going to, and the sacrifices he was demanding, for the sake of this crusade. If it bothered them that he was willing to sacrifice their well being for a cause that they almost certainly did not believe in, they hardly showed it. At this point, perhaps they were too tired to fight against his tide.

Inaya stared across the open waters gently lapping in front of them. They were far slower here than earlier, and it was promising. A short walk, albeit in waist deep water, and they would be across. Farmund stared back towards the spot where he saw Edda, as if wishing she’d come floating across the water as a spirit if nothing else.

“Alright. We’ll mark the spot. Drop anything you don’t need, and hide it deep in the weeds. We’ll-”

“What do you propose we bury Edda with?” Farmund interrupted, staring still down the river in the direction they had come. “I can’t very well dig with a sword,” he said, reminding Alarik and Inaya that somehow he had managed to carry the thing this whole time. Alarik had lost his spear so early he had forgotten he had it in the first place. “But we can’t leave her out there any further. It’s a crime against our people.

If Inaya wished to note that she was not of their “people,” but instead an upper nobility, she wisely, kindly chose not to. Alarik spoke first in order not to remove the opportunity. “We’ll have to dig with our knives. The dirt is soft by the river, and even if the grave is not deep, we should be able to bury her.”

“And if we can’t?”

“What else can we do?” Alarik said with a shrug. Farmund started to turn, and Alarik quickly changed his tone. “We’ll find a way. I’m certain of that. Now let us leave our things behind. Break a number of the larger plants in half, and try your best to notice… something in the treeline. Any sort of pattern, anything.” The rainforest seemed to go on endlessly. In his mind, the crusade itself had seemed that way. “We’ll have to mark our pattern through the rainforest upon the return, as well. Just in case. On our trip here, we more or less had to move in only one direction. A slight deviation mattered little. It’ll matter now, if we drop our things.”

They did as they were told. Only bare necessities were carried. The clothes on their backs, swimming in their footwear, and basic tools in holsters at their side. There was little else. They ate as much of the fish as they could, waited for it to settle, and pushed on.

Inaya was the first to step into the waters. They did not carry the same raging torrent as they had farther up the river, where Edda was swept away. Instead, they were relatively calm and far less deep. Stepping out into the water until it came up to her midsection, she made significant progress towards the other end already. For her, it was the next step in the journey that was not of her choice anymore, but of necessity. She knew well enough that Alarik was in no uncertain terms going to attempt to cross the river, and the best chance of survival for the three would be to stay together and help him do it.

She turned back to give a nod and ushered the other two forward. Farmund went next, showing clear apprehension through remembering the last time he dared step forward into the water - and of course, the fate of one who went too far. He dipped his whole body in when he reached the point Inaya had, even though his massive height was nowhere near covered by water. He needed to feel it. He came up after a few moments, panting. For him, he had to cross this river. There was no scenario in his head where he would continue to live and he’d leave her body to rot.

Alarik was the last, then. The level of excitement within him was so strong he was shaking. Still, there was some trepidation. Not dying in the river, no, that did not bother him if that was the way he was to leave this world. Rather, he feared what it meant to cross. Reaching beyond this point would mean that the task is nearly complete. The river is the final leg. What, then, when they cross it? Return to the base camp, report to that dormant blob Colonel Willamar and state that once more he had lost many of his troops and ultimately found nothing of note? It was a damned mission to begin with, a pointless venture and an irrational gamble made by an empire that has enough subjects to be able to spare them on such foolish ploys and carry on without a thought. Is this success? Is this what he wished for?

Time to cross with eagerness. Land ahead, make way. Here comes the captain.

Considering the importance of the experience, it was distinctly anticlimactic. They crossed the river - the final great hurdle - not with some tremendous strain and outpouring of energy and resolve, but with a casual walk through water that served more to cool their overheated bodies than to exhaust them further. Alarik still came up from the water breathing heavily, but some part of it was based more in excited triumph. He had done what he felt was impossible; he crossed the great river, and made it…

Well, halfway. Just shy of halfway, truthfully.

And there was yet no time to rest. Farmund had already walked off without a word, heading back up the river from where they had travelled. It was no mystery where he was going.

They walked in solemn silence. Alarik had to withhold his celebrations, seeing as they appeared far closer to a funeral procession than a group of triumphant explorers. But in spite of everything, deep down, Alarik was happy. The purposelessness of the mission, the sacrifices, everything - it mattered little. This, all told, was a success.

Although he wouldn’t dare say that to Farmund as he approached the bloated body sprawled in the reeds. She was mercifully face down, covering her features. With respect and stoicism, the man knelt down and removed her necklace, one of the last signs of her Vanderik royalty she carried with her, seeing as her broach was gone, with deftness that belied his massive form. It was a pendant worth more than his home, but one that was still simple to the untrained eye. It was gold, fashioned into the form of a smelting hammer; a symbol of the metal-infusing Vanderik people. In spite of its worth, he carried it not for sale, but as a memory of her. He held it tightly in his palm before placing it around his own neck. Not for a moment did either Alarik or Inaya question it. They knew his intentions.

Inaya wrinkled her nose, but didn’t say a word. The smell was beyond anything they had experienced before. The water and heat on a dead body was far from kind, and it made the ordeal far more grim. Nevertheless, Farmund got to work immediately, and his two companions were smart not to mention any discomfort. He began tearing out the plants where the mud, awash with the water of the river, softened considerably. Before long he had enough space to be able to begin to dig the grave, which he started with his hands before using his knife to break up the harder layers. The grave was certainly not to be deep, and he refused to accept assistance in digging it.

His two companions watched in discomforting silence. Willing but unwelcome to help, they sat and watched. Sometimes, Alarik wondered if there was a romantic connection between the two, but he didn’t believe that to be the case. His was something no less meaningful, but platonic. His life revolved around duty, and his duty was linked to Edda. Now that duty was bloated and dead and floating half-suspended in weeds along the riverbank in a rainforest far from home.

They weren’t sure how long it took. The minutes seemed to stretch and the time felt like ages, especially with the pungent odour so close by. But nevertheless, a sufficient grave was dug. There was no pomp and circumstance here, but simplicity. So unlike a noble, but to Farmund, that would be strangely fitting for the royal woman.

Without so much as a wrinkle of his nose or a tear in his eye, he lifted the body from the weeds and placed it into the grave. He scooped the dirt back upon it, patting it down in the end, and whispered a few words the others couldn’t hear. With that, he stood up and addressed the other members of the party.

“Thank you for helping guide me here,” he said. “My task is done. You can carry on with yours, and I will follow.”

Alarik looked him over. While still massive, he had lost plenty of weight in his travels here. He was covered in dirt and grime, his fingers bloody from the digging. His skin was burnt and blistering, the insects particularly disruptive around the river. And yet he wished only to continue onwards. In many ways, he was the perfect soldier. For that, he wished so much more for him than the profession could offer. That’s the sad part of soldiering; those that are the best should never have been involved. “Well. The distance isn’t long now. Just a matter of hours.”

They carried on the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t that they didn’t wish to speak, but rather they just didn’t know what else there was to say.