The room was simple. No ornamentation, no padding on the seats, no art on the walls other than flags. Steady Aether-light banished nearly all shadow. Behind a sturdy wood desk sat a man in military dress, red and grey, with stripes on his chest.

The man tilted his head as he looked at Ren. “Here to enlist, son?”

The corporal from Garam’s! He certainly looked different with a fresh shave.

“Yes sir,” said Ren, offering the salute he’d been practicing since that night.

“Oh!” said the man, his formality dropping away. “You’re that kid from Katarn. Ben or something? Knew I recognized you. Come on up and take a seat. We’ll get your paperwork squared away. I’m Corporal Farook”

Ren approached the desk and sat.

“Damn bleeding light, kid. You look like a demon just shit you out. Was the road really that rough?”

Ren nodded. “We got attacked by an Aether Beast a couple weeks back, sir.”

The corporal nodded. “You can drop the sir till you’re officially enlisted.” He looked Ren up and down. “Did it take your food or something?”

Ren supposed he was still rather thin, though Osai had been force feeding him the rations Norn had packed for him and he was feeling stronger now.

“It got me with its venom.”

“Sounds like you’re lucky to be standing. Mind if I see the scar?”

Ren lifted his shirt. The wound was fully healed, at least physically. All that was left was a jagged ridge across his stomach.

The corporal’s eyes widened. “Shit. How are you even walking around?” he whispered to himself.

“Does it look that bad?”

The corporal didn’t respond, shaking his head. “What kind of guard company lets a beast like that get to their client.”

Ren sat back down. He didn’t really want to talk about it.

“I’d have some words with them if you don’t mind telling me the name of the company.”

“They… they didn’t make it. We buried them up on a hill by the caravan-serai where River Bamul meets the road.”

Neither of them spoke for a few long seconds.

“Well, let’s get started then.” He pulled out a stack of papers. “Can you read?”

Ren nodded.

“Good. I advise you to read through it all. I’ll answer any questions you have after and review the key points.”

Ren pulled out the note the captain had given him.

The corporal took it. “Oh yeah, a custom contract. I’ll draw something up and add an addendum for you.”

Ren reviewed all the paperwork. A task made even more fun by the fact that he had to control his breathing to maintain the Blood Cleansing Wheel the whole time.

“Okay, before you sign, I need to review things with you.” Corporal Farook had yet to hand over the quill in his hand. His voice had returned to an official tone. “The military reserves the right to reject your pledge or to repurpose you as needed.”

Ren nodded. It said all this in the contract. Did people really not read these things? Well, maybe he wouldn’t have if he and his family hadn’t already learned about the dangers of fine print the hard way. He gripped the butterfly pin in his pocket.

No, he didn’t have a choice. They needed him.

“Once you sign you will be issued recruit gear; trainee greys, boots, bivvy kit, rucksack, weapon belt, and a merit badge. You’ll be assigned a training pod with whom you’ll share camp supplies. The merit badge will be coded to your Qi signature and track your deeds. Merit points can be used to access armory resources. But you won’t need to worry about any of that until you finish basic training.

“Tomorrow happens to be the first assessment day, so you’ll be going through testing right off. If you qualify, you will start basic at the end of the week. At the end of basic all non-endorsed recruits will go through another round of trials and get assigned to a specialized training path. This is based on merit. The seven year contract you selected allows you to request placement in a specialization of your choosing though it isn’t guaranteed. Medics don’t go through the standard trials, they have their own testing and get shipped off for specialized training early, so if you plan to go down that path let your training officer know and don’t miss the medic test. If you fail to qualify for an advanced role, you’ll be assigned based on needs of the army like the rest. This mean’s you’ll most likely land in a job with R1 starting pay.”

The Corporal went on to review the terms of discharge, the punishments for desertion, insubordination, and betrayal. Apparently the searing heat of a branding iron was the best case scenario in those instances.

“All that clear?”

Ren nodded. His shakes were a little worse than usual as he reached out for the quill and signed the contract. The signature was choppy, and he was glad his mother wasn’t there to see it.

The corporal took the paperwork and flipped through the pages. “All is in order. Head through the door behind me to trade in your belongings for standard issue gear. You’ll be able to switch back to your own boots if you want after you’ve completed training and are assigned to a unit.”

***

Ren was really feeling his residual weakness now. The rucksack loaded with his new supplies felt as heavy to him now as the full barrels of mead had back at Garam’s. His calves burned with each step up the valley toward the camp.

The grey tunic and pants they’d issued him were a bit loose and scratchy. These tunics were based on the traditional Ardinian fashion that had been an extremely uncommon sight in lowtown Katarn. He could already feel chaffing from the loose fabric in the pants.

Soldiers in red and grey stood at attention on wooden battlements that surrounded the camp. They directed him to his training pod.

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There were four bivvy’s erected on the flattest patches of ground when he arrived. Three men and a woman sat around a fire watching water boil. Or cooking.

Ren’s tunic and cloak were soaked through with sweat from the trek up to camp, and he couldn’t imagine standing so close to a heat source.

They didn’t seem to notice him as he approached, chose a lumpy plot of earth that didn’t have too many rocks, and dropped his pack with a thump. This was going to suck rat droppings, at least in the alleys the ground had been level.

“Oi! Newcomer, you hungry?” It was a shorter man with rough features and bushy eyebrows. From the foothills no doubt. He held a bowl under his nose and sniffed. “We got some proper gruel tonight.”

“Thank you.” Ren dipped his head awkwardly toward the group who were all looking at him now. “I have to set up my tent.”

The man chuckled and looked at the fading light that sent splinters of red into the sky. “Fair enough.” He tipped the bowl back and slurped, turning back to the fire.

A handsome and muscular man, not much older than Ren, lifted a hand, commanding the attention of the group. He had noble Ardinian features, a prominent nose, well defined cheekbones, a pronounced chin, and skin that was neither dark like the southerners nor light like the mountain folk. “Once our final pod member has set up, proper introductions will be in order.”

The others nodded and turned back to the pot as the rough one dished out stew.

Ren pulled his bivvy kit free of his pack and laid it out over the uneven ground.

“Ahem.”

Ren jumped and turned to see the girl from the fire standing right behind him.

“First time campin?”

Ren nodded, flushing. She was really close. He noted the beads braided into her hair. If he remembered correctly, that was a custom in the plains west of River Ardus. She eyed him, gaze intense and piercing. Almost like Norn.

Spirits, he never thought he’d miss that girl.

She raised an eyebrow. “Ye like acupressure in yer sleep?” Her voice was thick and syrupy, some words were drawn out and others were clipped short. There was an almost musical cadence to it, despite how unrefined it seemed on the surface.

“Wha- What?” he stammered. Was this some strange kind of proposition? Was she teasing him?

“I jus notice ye left rocks under tae bivvy.” She placed a hand on his chest and met his gaze. “Wan me ta teach ye?”

He looked down at the hand on his chest and gulped.

“Tea- Teach me?” Was she really being so forward in front of the others? Ren was open minded but-

Chuckles erupted from the guys around the fire, and his flush got a shade darker.

“Ya.” She gestured toward the bivvy kit and kicked at a rock on the ground beside it.

“Oh, you mean teach me to set up my tent.”

She nodded. “Ye kissed by a rock when ye was little or something?”

What did that mean?

“She means did your parents drop you on your head.” Called out the noble looking one. He seemed to be doing a better job suppressing his laughter than the other two. “It’s plain-tribe speak for asking if you’re dumb.”

Ren’s shaky hands got a little worse and the tremor traveled to his legs. This was not a good start.

He stepped back to a more comfortable distance and offered the girl a shallow bow. “I would be grateful for your guidance.”

She nodded and pulled him down to a squat, showing him how to pull up rocks and fill in the gaps, creating a much flatter surface. Then she showed him how the bivvy worked, how to set up the single post that held it up and how to tie knots to secure corners down to brush or stacks of rocks. “Never know when tae wind will come out ta play.”

Then she instructed him to tie one of the corners to an anchor. She squatted by him watching intently, once again uncomfortably close.

His shaky fingers struggled with the knots. His nerves weren’t helping but he wished that was the only reason for his unsteady hands.

“Ye think I’ll bite ye?”

“She means ‘are you nervous around girls.’” The noble laughed outright this time.

Ren knew what she meant. Flaming seed of Aziroth’s horse-

Ren smiled, remembering all the various insults Garam had taught him.

“Not afraid of you,” He said, still struggling with the knot. “I… got poisoned, is all. Still recovering.”

She nodded and grunted, and the three men by the fire stopped laughing.

Eventually he managed and realized how cold he was now with his sweat drenched clothes clinging to his skin.

The warmth of the flame and stew were very welcome when he finally sat down with his pod-mates. He didn’t even care that the meat was overcooked and the herbs unbalanced and soggy.

“So, are we gonna call you shakes, or do you have a name?” asked the gruff one.

“Ren.”

“That’s easy. Was afraid you’d be named something like Wei Shi Cartopholis or some other empyrian bullshit. Where are you from?”

“Katarn.”

“A man of many words,” joked the noble.

“How about we all share instead of grilling him?” This was the first he’d heard the third man speak, enunciating his words so clearly Ren wondered if he’d been a Kiro-Ball announcer before this. He wore spectacles and was the tallest of the lot and almost as wiry as Ren. “I’m Bahmul, of Bhawanur.”

How did a fellow from the capital end up at a training camp all the way out here?

“Rhami, daughter of Ruwahaim,” said the girl through a mouth of stew. “Clan Janjawa.”

That was right, the western plains were still organized by tribes according to the books he had read on the subject.

“I’m Gunney,” said the short, rough man, “child of the north.”

Northerners were known for their wild independence. Ruhaim Abidi, Ren’s favorite historian, postulated that the only reason they had gathered under the banner of the republic was their proximity to the barbarian tribes in the mountains.

“And I,” said the noble-looking-one, staring imperiously down his nose, “am Hamsa, son of swords.”

Son of swords, son of an Asbar. Military nobility. Hopefully they’d get along. He would be a bad rival to have.

“So, why are you all enlisting?” Ren worked up the courage to ask.

“Ye go ta tae river for water don’t ye?” said Rhami.

“She means-”

“That it was a stupid question.” Ren finished Hamsa’s sentence, reddening. They were all there to fight for their country.

“Grass needs waterin.” The girl from the western tribe stood and walked out into the growing darkness.

“She means-”

“Taking a piss, I know.” Ren cut off the explanation again.

“Ha!” Gunney slapped him on the back, hard. “Got some spice now that your belly isn’t empty, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” Ren bowed his head to Hamsa, “It’s been a long day.”

“No worries.” The bigger boy winced as he took another bite of stew. “The only thing offending me right now is this gruel.”

“You trying to say something about my cooking?” Gunney challenged.

“I wouldn’t feed it to the crows that shit on my grandma’s tombstone.”

The older man reddened, and Ren cradled his bowl, bracing for the two to fight. But Gunney bellowed out the loudest laugh of the night, falling on his back and rolling until he finally calmed down. “You’re not half bad, brat.”

Hamsa nodded back and took another wincing bite of stew.

“So, uh, is it normal for a girl to be that friendly, and, uh, close?” Ren pushed himself to ask another question while the girl was away.

“What?” said Hamsa, “do the girls back home in Katarn not try to bed you?”

Ren stared at the grass. He shouldn’t have asked.

“He’s just putting rocks in your pockets.” Bahmul spoke up again. “People of the western tribes don’t have the same sense of personal space as we do. Scholar Ruhaim theorizes it is due to the icy winds that cut through the plains in winter. Sharing body heat is a necessity.”

“You read Scholar Ruhaim?” Ren perked up.

“Of course!” The wiry man puffed out his chest. “I’m not an ingrate. Ruhaim is taught in all of the city schools.”

“Really? I was home taught, so I can’t speak on Katarn’s schools.”

Ren finally relaxed, and conversation ebbed and flowed into the night until, at last, the pod went to their bedrolls.

Selection began the next day.