Humans, Gods, and memories.

Great enemies, all three can be.

Thaeolai halted her ink quill. At first, she had planned for this to be the seed of a new piece. But as she looked over it, she decided this rhyme looked quite compelling on its own. And so she left it. She kept the parchment flat and did not fold it, as to let the ink dry. But so it would not be seen, she slid it under her straw pillow, careful not to smear.

There was occasionally downtime at the camp. When there was, she tried to occupy herself with poetry. She didn’t think herself very good, but when her thoughts ran, it helped to write them down. If the older healers saw, they wouldn’t be happy. The ink and parchment was only supposed to be for recording injuries and deaths, as well as submitting requests for ingredients and supplies.

But she’d only taken just a touch. They wouldn’t notice.

At first, it had only been a week since Heror left, leaving the charred ruins of a tent and a dead siekangh – killed by cuts before burns – in his wake. Something terrible must have happened. That was the only explanation Thaeolai could muster. When Heror got upset, he could lose control at times. But he had said goodbye. He had left. She had expected him to slip quietly over the wall into the night, and that would be the end of it. Instead, he left a tower of flames.

She wondered if she’d made him angry. And if that had started it all. Why had he made his way back to the longhouse? Why had he gotten into this fight? She remembered the incident several nights before Heror’s departure. When he’d returned to the medical tent from a meeting, barely talking. When she asked what happened, he said only a few words.

Nothing that hasn’t happened before.

When she asked Ucankacei, he too had said nothing – though this was even more unlike him. And in the early morning several days later, the old man was one of the many onlookers – his eyes fixed on a ruinous plot of soot and charcoal, filled with shock.

Ucankacei didn’t tell her after that, either. To her eye, it felt as though he wanted to forget about Heror. But it wasn’t a natural thing for him. And Thaeolai knew it. It was no easier for her.

But the days and weeks that followed would make it easy to forget – as new horrors awaited them. The Midans pressed on after the massacre at Kraana’s Pass. They stormed the gap again, with greater numbers and greater strength. They gained a foothold on the Ardysi side of the wall, and then they kept pressing. Each day, the line was pushed farther south. Each day, Thaeolai and the healers had to retreat again. And together with the soldiers, they’d move their tents down the road.

Thaeolai never saw the fighting, but she heard it, and she heard of it. The Midans did not adhere to the traditional honor code of battle, she had overheard one officer say to another. They attacked by surprise, at night and in foul conditions. Through that, they overwhelmed. And they seldom left survivors.

She heard about monsters who stood over seven feet tall, with horns on their head and massive clubs of rock and stone. Thin, gangly fog demons who would swoop in after these monsters with razors and spears. Whenever she heard of them, her mind went to the demonstration by the Kci Talon in the mahallas, when they first informed the commoners of the war. Why weren’t they on the front lines? It was far from an even fight without them.

In the dark, she would hear shouts from the barricade at the far end of the encampment. Raps of metal and cracks of bone echoing in the air. It was never long before a siephall came running back to the longhouse, and gave word that the khilung needed to retreat.

For the rest of Rimvalen, and into early Kynvalen, this cycle continued. The Midans’ stronghold at the wall grew larger, and they used it to fuel recurring attacks farther inside the Kingdom. The Midans advanced, and the Ardysi army would retreat after an ill-fated resistance effort.

Thaeolai was thankful, at least, that Ucankacei still was not battle ready. If they asked her, she’d say he never would be again. But the Opelites had begun to value what little strategic insight he had in his old age. They would include him regularly in their briefings, and as the siekarums’ numbers fell, Ucankacei’s experience became more and more unique – even if very little of it was in wartime. Soon, perhaps, they’d exalt his name – to Ucancei. As a show of class advancement and fulfilled duty to his Kingdom.

This, of course, was only an observation Thaeolai made from the outside. Ucankacei didn’t speak to her much anymore. She could see him putting up a shell after Heror left. Even when they had been in Cephragon, that shell had been there at times. But Heror was always better at breaking it down than she was – whether he tried to or not. Maybe it was because he’d met Ucankacei earlier. Maybe it was because he was a boy. Maybe it was because he didn’t try, and she always tried too hard.

Regardless, she could feel herself trying less now. Ucankacei was busy. And her duties kept her busy. She had made a friend among the healers – Arnewuai – but she was shot in the back by an arrow during one retreat.

One thing that kept her going was the snowstone. Even though they’d left the docks behind, and she knew not where Destus was, the sweet white pellets still found their way to the war camp, and they flowed through it. If you needed it, you could find it. And so Thaeolai found it. She left it beneath her pillow, opposite her poems.

After each frantic battle, able-bodied soldiers brought back the wounded they could. Thaeolai was almost thankful they didn’t bring back more.

At first, their injuries horrified her. But as the weeks went on, she saw it all again and again. And she grew numb to it. Deep cuts and gashes. Limbs and tendons sheared and severed. Bones crushed and snapped and fragmented into shards, which might then poke through the skin in unnatural places. Some cried and wailed and whimpered in utter agony. Others were silent, eyes glazed over – minds already crossing to other places.

There were different keawal vitality spells for different types of injuries, but in the chaos, Thaeolai would get her wires crossed. A siephall lay on his back, choking on his own blood, and Thaeolai used a stability spell. A siephall’s ankle hung limp from a direct hammer blow, and she used a stitch. Unalai slapped her. There was no time to be patient or to teach, or to learn or to cry.

At the sound of a battle breaking, Thaeolai would use the snowstone through her nose. Then she’d smile, and everything would be alright. A siephall came in screaming, an arrow lodged in his abdomen. She wrapped her hands around it and ripped it out, and she sliced open an intestine. She smiled. A siephall came in with heavy internal bleeding and was slipping quickly. She tried to pause the effect, but she could not. He died. She smiled. Another arrow punctured a siephall’s femoral artery. When she tried to bind it, blood sprayed on her face and her hair. She smiled less.

Those who survived would rest on open beds. Those who died would go to mass graves, and the next ones would come. And the sun rose and set, rose and set – and the clouds billowed and climbed and fell and spread, and roamed across the sky.

~:{~}:~

Thaeolai opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt dead inside. She didn’t know what day it was now. It had stormed the night before. That much, she knew. She could still smell the rain on the grass from outside.

With a low groan, she sat up from her bed, and her long blonde hair fell over her face. For a moment, she thought to leave it – maybe she’d forget where she was – but she soon brushed it to the side with both hands, parting her hair down the middle. She grabbed a lock from behind her and started straightening it out with her hands, to level out the frizzes.

It was quiet, at least for now. From outside, the low light of dawn crept through the red tent stitchings. Not far in the distance, from the camp’s edge, Thaeolai could hear a soft chorus of birds chirping and singing from the high forest trees. There was already muffled chatter in the camp.

As Thaeolai guided her hair, she heard footsteps. She glanced to her left and saw the old healer Unalai walking toward her. The old woman was a bit shorter than Thaeolai, and more widely built, with wispy gray hair, grungy healer robes, and a worn, wrinkled face. She was fragile, both in appearance and tone – but the weeks on the front had worn her through, and left a bitterness on the surface. She offered Thaeolai not a glance as she went by with a hard and heavy expression, but spoke nonetheless.

“I’ve been called to something,” Unalai grumbled to Thaeolai. “Check on the brown one.”

“Yes, Unalai,” Thaeolai answered faintly.

Yesterday’s kick had faded. Thaeolai’s eyes were tired. Her joints ached. Her head throbbed. As she dropped her hands from her hair, she glanced back at her pillow and thought about taking another. She decided to wait, and gingerly rose to her feet.

The ‘brown one’ was a boy – at the far end of the medical tent. He had been helped back from the last battle with a large shallow gash across his torso. He lay with his back turned. As she approached, Thaeolai couldn’t be sure if he was still sleeping. But once he heard her footsteps, he jolted awake, and his eyes dashed toward her, and she stopped next to his bed.

“It’s alright. I’m a healer.”

The boy stared at her for a moment, brown eyes wide. But then he calmed, and he relaxed as much as he could with a long exhale, lying on his back again. He was a dark-skinned else with a small, lean frame. Thaeolai surmised he couldn’t be older than fifteen years old. He had a thin face with wide brown eyes, and tight black curls atop his head.

As she observed him, Thaeolai realized he looked familiar.

“Have I treated you before?” she asked. “What’s your name?”

“Khoulane,” the boy muttered, with no energy in his voice.

“Your ribs…” she remembered; he’d arrived a day after Heror did.

The ribs, she’d been able to heal. The collapsed lung, she’d needed help. His injury reminded her of Heror’s, but she didn’t dare ask questions. She’d seen the look in their eyes, when they were forced back to the battlefield.

But now, his bare torso was bound again, by bandages splotched with red. Unalai had stitched his wound and applied a wrap to stabilize it. Two days had passed. Now Thaeolai was to see the progress.

“Can you sit up for me, Khoulane?”

Silently, Khoulane sat up. Thaeolai gently sat down on the bed next to him, and she looked for the final crease in the bandages.

“I’m going to remove this, alright?” Thaeolai told him. “We need to see how the wounds have healed.”

Khoulane nodded – a faint gesture that was barely visible. Once Thaeolai found the edge of the wrapping, she slid her fingers underneath it, and then she unwrapped. The wrap went from Khoulane’s armpits to his abdomen, and in a couple minutes, Thaeolai had undone it all. She tossed the crusted and reddened bandages aside.

The cut went from the right side of his chest to the lower left side of his abdomen. It was as if a spear had caught and dragged across his body. It would be a scar even when it healed fully – but from what Thaeolai could tell, the scabbing was stable. The body would do the rest on its own.

“Your armor should’ve prevented this,” Thaeolai noted.

“No armor,” Khoulane mumbled.

“What?” Thaeolai questioned. “No armor? You didn’t get more after you lost your first?”

She glanced at him now, but part of her wasn’t surprised; supply was indeed running low.

Khoulane looked down at his legs, which were still covered in the traditional Ardysi cuisses, greaves, and boots. He wiggled his feet.

“Got leg armor, at least,” the boy managed. “Can’t lose my calves.”

Thaeolai let out a small laugh and smiled. Khoulane was confused for a short spell, and then he smiled, too – dimples pinching on his cheeks. Thaeolai grabbed a roll of clean bandage wrap from the ground, and then she turned back to him.

“I’m going to wrap you up again with a clean bandage,” she said. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

Khoulane lifted his arms, wincing lightly as he did so, and then Thaeolai wrapped his wound again. Once she was done, Thaeolai stood.

“You can walk about the camp today if you’re feeling up to it, but take it slow,” she advised. “And you should try and get a new cuirass. I know there isn’t a lot to go around, but you should do everything you can to protect your wound if you go out again.”

Khoulane looked at her, a bit confused again. Thaeolai thought for a moment, and then an idea came to her.

“Talk to siekarum Ucankacei if you want new armor,” she went on. “Tell him that Thaeolai sent you, and he should be able to help you. He’s an older man. He’s usually in the longhouse on the east side of the road during the day.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Khoulane met her eyes, and then his gaze fluttered back to the ground. He stood slowly and nodded.

“Thank you, Thaeolai.”

Now Khoulane turned and started for the tent flap. Thaeolai shot one more glance at him before he left, and then she turned and went to discard the dirtied bandages. She had just bent down to pick them up off the floor, when she heard a shout, muffled and distant through the tent walls. She paused for a moment, and soon, she heard it again. She ran to the other exit and went outside.

In the morning, the misty sky was a silvery blue. It took Thaeolai only a second to realize there was no battle starting; there was no horn, and no siephalls were scrambling from their tents. But soon, she heard another distressed shout, coming from across the road. She turned and went that way.

She crossed into the east side of camp, and made her way to the medical tents, south of the longhouse. As she walked, her crude hide shoes trudged in the dirt. She could hear low murmurs as she approached the tent. Before she entered through the flap, she saw blood on the ground.

Now she slipped through, and as she came under the tent, she saw a small crowd of people huddled around a bed near the tent’s center. Unalai was there, along with another healer Thaeolai recognized – a bearded Pylanthean else named Isec – and three Ardysi soldiers. Among them, Thaeolai saw Ucankacei. The old man only offered her a glance as she entered, before his eyes dropped again. Thaeolai started toward them, and soon, she came upon the bed and saw what they saw.

A young siephall lay on his back, groaning in agony, his consciousness close to gone. A powerful sword strike had sliced through the top of his light armor cuirass, and left a deep cut from the right of his chest to his collarbone and the base of his neck. He was losing blood. He had already lost a great deal.

As Thaeolai approached, Unalai glanced back at her. The old woman shook her head.

“We don’t need any more help, Thaeolai,” she urged. “Just stay back.”

Isec carefully applied a liquid to the siephall’s cut with a dropper. As each drop hit blood and exposed tissue, the siephall closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and let out a growl of pain. Now Isec set down the dropper, and he brought his right hand over the cut at the base of the siephall’s neck, poking his fingers toward it. He whispered to himself. There was a faint sea green glow, and then there was a contained snap. From the siephall’s neck, the bleeding slowed, and then it came to a stop.

The siephall still writhed in pain, folding his arms in toward his chest, where blood still pooled – but this, at least, seemed to calm him some small bit. Isec stood up straight again, then glanced between Unalai and Ucankacei.

“The medicine will at least help with any potential infections, but we’ll need to monitor him,” Isec said. “He was out there for a while in the mud. It’s very likely he picked up something. Depending on what… there may be very little we can do. For now, we can only wrap it and keep it clean. Luckily, his artery wasn’t close to being severed. Judging by the power of the swing he took, that’s a small miracle. But it was just a knick – I stitched it up. And the strike to the chest, while deep, wasn’t quite deep enough to impact any organs.”

“So he’ll live?” one of the Ardysi soldiers asked.

Isec gave him a look of conflict; his brow sank with the tone of his voice.

“He might.”

At that moment, another siephall entered from the northern tent flap, breathing heavily. All eyes fell on him as he entered, and as he approached the group, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, maesal,” the siephall said. “The other six… they were all dead.”

Thaeolai blinked, and her jaw drooped open. Six siephalls dead? But there had been no battle the night before.

Now one of the other Ardysi soldiers – a greencloak with short, cropped blonde hair and a shaved face – stepped out and nodded to the siephall.

“Thank you,” the middle-aged siekarum told him. “Return to your post.”

The siephall left, and now the unnamed siekarum turned back to the wounded soldier.

“Siephall,” the siekarum said, his voice loud and clear. “This is siekarum Shinuei. Can you hear me?”

Through pained and strained breaths, the wounded siephall muttered: “Yes.”

“Who did this to you?” siekarum Shinuei asked. “Who did this to you on our side of the line?”

“It was… the traitor… Heror Heran,” the wounded siephall replied.

Now Thaeolai’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. As she stood in shock, the siephall continued.

“We heard noises coming from the longhouse,” the siephall said weakly. “When we investigated… he was there. We recognized his description. Siekarum Ucankacei had him at swordpoint. Then he ran… and we chased him…”

The siephall paused to cough, and his voice started to break.

“He tore right through all of us…”

“Thank you,” Shinuei offered. “That’s enough, siephall.”

Now Thaeolai looked at Ucankacei, eyes wide. The old siekarum’s eyes were fixed on the floor. He only looked up when he felt the stare of siekarum Shinuei. As Ucankacei’s gaze met his compatriot’s, Shinuei nodded.

“We should brief siekangh Jakthei,” Shinuei said simply.

Now Shinuei and Ucankacei started past the bed – Ucankacei limping along with his wooden crutch – while Isec and Unalai stayed by the wounded siephall. Ucankacei seemed to follow with reluctance, but he paid Thaeolai no mind, either. It was only when Thaeolai whispered his name insistently and grabbed his shoulder that Ucankacei stopped and turned, giving her half a glance.

“Ucankacei…” Thaeolai breathed. “What happened?”

Ucankacei looked at her. The light in his sea green eyes was gone. And without a word, he turned and left, following siekarum Shinuei out the door. Thaeolai’s thoughts raced.

Heror was here? Heror did this?

The healers needed no help at the moment, and so Thaeolai followed Ucankacei at a safe distance, until she watched him retreat inside the longhouse to the north. She crept up against the tent wall and tried to listen in. She heard three voices, but they were soft, muffled, and deliberately hushed.

A few minutes passed, and then to the south, Thaeolai saw siekarum Shinuei exit. Now she heard the siekangh speaking to Ucankacei alone. A few more minutes passed, and then finally, she heard the northern tent flap fold outward again. She looked to the north and Ucankacei was there, his back hunched and frail as he limped ahead on his wooden crutch, emerald cloaks hanging off his shoulders.

“Ucankacei,” Thaeolai said firmly, out of impulse, as she rushed toward him.

Ucankacei shot a half-hearted glance in Thaeolai’s direction, and then he scowled and started walking again. But he only made it a few more feet before Thaeolai cut in front of him, blocking off his path. Thaeolai raised her arms for a moment, and then she relaxed. And for a few seconds, they stood in silence. Thaeolai stared at him. Ucankacei’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“Ucankacei…” Thaeolai whispered. “Tell me what happened.”

“You weren’t supposed to be listening in,” Ucankacei scolded under his breath. “That was a privileged discussion.”

“Tell me what happened,” Thaeolai persisted, lowering her brow.

Ucankacei’s lips curled into a frown, as he stifled a groan inside his throat.

“You don’t get to shut me out anymore,” Thaeolai growled. “First, the meeting. And now this. You and Heror both did it. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“What is there to tell?” Ucankacei lashed, his eyes rising again. “You saw what he did.”

“Tell me what happened!” Thaeolai urged – in a voice that would’ve been a shout, if not a whisper.

“He killed six, maybe seven,” Ucankacei replied, his tone dismissive. “So now he’s killed seven, maybe eight.”

“Don’t talk about killing like it’s not all anyone does out here.”

“He killed our own.”

“He was brought to war. He didn’t want to be here, if you remember. What would you expect? I’ve seen terrible things in those tents. I’m not going to judge Heror for what war did to him. What it’s done to everyone…”

Thaeolai trailed off for a moment. Ucankacei was quiet. He refused to look at her now.

“And besides… you and I both know he wouldn’t do something like this unless he was provoked,” Thaeolai reminded the old man. “What was he even doing back here? Tell me what happened before–”

“What happened before doesn’t matter, because this is what happened after,” Ucankacei interrupted, his eyes shooting back ahead. “Maybe I was… maybe we… maybe we were wrong about him. Maybe this is just what he is.”

Ucankacei’s voice started to break, and his bottom lip started to quiver. He bowed his head again. Thaeolai could see his chest trembling. As Ucankacei composed himself, Thaeolai took a step toward him. Her expression lightened – as much as it could – and she too bowed her head, strands of blonde falling over her eyes and nose.

“Did he come back to see you?” Thaeolai asked softly.

Ucankacei said nothing. Thaeolai blinked.

“That’s the only reason I can think of,” Thaeolai pondered. “Did you speak to him? What did you say?”

Now Ucankacei’s nose scrunched, and his chest heaved. Thaeolai could see his knuckles shaking around the rim of his crutch handle. He slumped down, his eyes clenched shut, and his lip curved again – and then he stood straight up. He brushed the tears aside and opened his eyes again. Thaeolai saw anger.

“Put him in the past, Thaeolai,” Ucankacei ordered, a coldness in his voice.

Now Ucankacei shoved past her, his steps faster and more sporadic. Thaeolai let out a frustrated sigh and hurried back in front of him.

“Ucankacei, you have to give me more than–”

“I said the only thing I could!” Ucankacei erupted at Thaeolai, his voice carrying in the morning air. “I was bound by duty! If he didn’t understand that, that’s his fault! And if you’re so concerned about him…”

Thaeolai stared, her mouth agape.

“… go join him, then,” Ucankacei hissed. “Sympathize with a traitor. A murderer. They said he wasn’t like us… and I should’ve listened.”

“Ucankacei, listen to yourself!” Thaeolai gasped.

Ucankacei started to turn away, but Thaeolai grabbed his arm. Ucankacei jolted, and now his lip curled in anger. For the moment, however, he remained silent. He held it at bay.

Thaeolai took a deep breath. She thought about her words.

“You remember… the day before we left?” she said softly.

“I don’t need to hear one of your speeches,” Ucankacei protested.

“Maybe you do.”

Ucankacei went silent again. He let out a strained sigh.

“You remember the day before we left for war?” Thaeolai went on. “Heror came back from the wharf with a cut on his nose. He was protecting me. That was how he got it. You remember when we were both around eighteen years old? He might’ve been nineteen, actually… He came back with bruises all over his arms and legs. Remember how it took him weeks to heal? Purple and red all over? Sailors tried to mug us for the coin we made that day. He fought them off. And he made sure I didn’t have a scratch on me…”

Ucankacei was quiet. Thaeolai continued. A small laugh escaped her lips.

“As funny as it is… what I remember the best…” Thaeolai reminisced. “… is when I first met you both, ten years ago. When I was fourteen, and you took me off the street. You let me take the extra room. You were always so kind… and Heror…”

Thaeolai paused for a moment. She could feel herself slipping a bit now.

“There was always this change… when Heror left and when he came back. At the docks, he was always tense, always on-edge… like he needed to be ready. To protect himself or me. But he was always so happy to come back and talk to you… and hear your stories… and cook with you, and spar with you…”

She took another breath – longer, fuller this time. The wind swelled ever so slightly.

“And I remember… the light in your eyes whenever he came back home,” Thaeolai managed. “It was like… he was the son you’d always wanted. The son you never had. That boy needed your kindness. Exactly your kindness, Ucankacei. Even when Heror was tired and sad and ready to give up… simply having him there was enough for you. And even if it didn’t seem like he was listening to your words of encouragement… you helped him keep going. Even when he left, it wasn’t because of you. It all just became too much for him.”

Thaeolai swallowed a lump in her throat.

“There are times when I blame myself, too… because I argued with him,” she admitted. “He wanted to dream. I wanted to be practical. I think we were always going to knock heads because of that. And he was angry with me before he left. But I think Heror… he gets upset… he’s impulsive, emotional… but he always looked out for us first. He’s always been a warm and gentle soul… who’s just been hurt so much.”

Thaeolai paused again. Her grip on Ucankacei’s arm loosened a bit. She couldn’t tell if the old man was truly listening. But he did not move.

“That boy needed your kindness,” Thaeolai told Ucankacei. “And I think… he needs it even more now.”

Thaeolai stopped now. She didn’t know what else she could say. And so she turned toward Ucankacei and brought her arm around him. It was quiet for a time longer. And then Ucankacei brushed her hand away. He stepped forward. Her arm slipped off his shoulders. He didn’t look at her.

“Stop talking about him like he’s still here,” Ucankacei said, his voice wavering with the breeze.

He took another step. Then he halted one last time. His breath quivered and fought against the words.

“That boy is gone.”

And then he limped away, leaving Thaeolai.

She stood for a time, in the dirt and the mud. Then, after a few minutes, she turned and headed west, beneath the cool overcast. She crossed the road, back to the western side of the camp. She went back to the western medical tent. Back to her bed.

She sat down and cried.