I hate those nights where it feels like my head has just barely hit the bed before the sounds of camp life roused me, telling me it was time to get up. The sadly, I've been having more nights like that than restful ones. It's getting harder and harder to remember what the feeling of having a sense of ease and comfort and being able to sleep till the warmth of the day touches my face was like. I havent felt warm in forever.

I kicked off the heavy blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the cot. My boots were cold, but I laced them up, gritting through the chill as it tried to creep into my bones. A heavy coat went over my shoulders and a wide brimmed hat over my messy hair. I threw open the canvas flap at the entrance of the tent and stepped out into the world. 

It froze during the night. That is going to make it hard to move the dead when my shift begins. But that's not the topic that should be on my mind as my stomach reminded me. I turned to the north and walked up the path to the makeshift kitchens. This is the real lifeblood of the camp. I could feel the pulse of the life flowing through there, feeding the living souls as well as the bodies. My other comrades were already here, absorbing the feeling of life and scarfing down breakfast. The food was a thick stew and a trencher of bread. It was the kind of food that was supposed to stick some meat on your ribs, and if we weren't marching every day, it might have worked. None of us spoke, we just ate in silence, absorbing the atmosphere of life before starting our draining work.

**********

Down in the fields, I picked up the tools I'd need. Oil, salt, flint, and a small hand drum that makes a deep thumping sound when beaten. Before me lay a large plain covered with corpses, the remains of fallen soldiers and people who had the misfortune of dying too close. The bodies lay in a tangled mess where they had fallen the night before which gave the mass a disjointed look and made arms and legs seem to just be haphazardly strewn about. I found a small knoll that was clear of any remains and set up the tools to begin the ceremony. A quick glance around confirmed that everyone else had round their spots as well. Shuffling figures in long coats dotted the field and began the ceremony at the same time, just as we had done countless times before. I spread the salt in a ring around me, calling out the words of the rites I was performing. That we were performing. The oil soaked into the salt as I poured it in a circle, spinning to the left. The direction of reverse. I could feel that cold again. It bit into the bones in my hands, like the life and warmth of my blood had left. 

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I fumbled with the flint for a halfsecond, and felt my heart beat faster as I made sure my words didn't falter. A single misspoken syllable would be the end of me. The flint was solidly in my hand now and I pulled out a short dagger, pressing the tip into the eastern side of the ring of salt. Holding the flint high in my left hand, I spoke the last few words and brought it down, sparking it off the bright edge of the blade. The oil caught fire, burning around behind me and sealing in my fate. 

The flames burned low till they reached the right side of the knife, meeting up with where it started. They leapt up to a full foot in height, pulsing with my heartbeat. My heartbeat, which had just gone from beating fast and strong to weak and fading fast. I swayed for a second, beginning to loose the fight to stay awake. The fire did nothing to warm me as the cold made its was up my arms, stiffening them as if trying to slow me down intentionally. The drum. I needed the drum. My eyes were going dark at the edges of my sight, the cold was in my shoulders. I could feel it reaching, focused on the one thing keeping me alive. I felt around with hands that were about as useless as frozen logs. Where did it go?

I felt an extra sharp bite in the frozen numbness of my hands. Like when you touch something when you are cold and the thing you touched was either even colder or so much hotter that you can't tell. I lunged for it and started to hit it with all the speed and rythem I could find left in my dead limbs. The fire beat at competing rythems. One my fading heartbeat and the other my frantic drumming. An eternity in a moment passed as my life hung between the cold and the warmth. 

Finally, the drum beat steadied and took over the flames. My arms slowly felt life again and I could start to feel the drum in my hands. I looked out over the fence of flames and saw the first signs of movement. A leg here, an arm there. I could almost feel the ice crystals break with each beat, soon the dead would be standing. Soon we would march.