Valentin’s eyes flickered open to a soupy darkness that hung thick in the air. He attempted to rouse his limbs into action but they did not react. He tried to focus his energy into wiggling a finger but the digit remained dormant. It felt as though his entire being wavered in and out of existence; in and out of focus.
In the distance, tendrils of ink danced around a motionless body. They slowly wrapped themselves around the limbs and dragged it up like a marionette. The possessed form made unnatural movements; its legs bowing and twisting in a grotesque dance. It scuttled forwards towards the paralyzed boy in his bed of night.
The figure wore garb that Valentin could not identify. The dress rippled and crackled. Ornate arm bands and tattoos completely obscured their arms. Black smoke bled from a gash on their neck and covered their already unrecognizable face.
It stood over Valentin but the boy did not react. His mind swam with serenity as hands grabbed tightly onto his clothes as it silently pleaded to him. The words did not reach the boy’s ears as Valentin was peacefully sinking into the nothingness at his back. The creature relented, unsatisfied that it went unacknowledged as eyes closed and all things lost form.
Valentin groggily awoke in his tent. His head felt awash with the lingering thoughts of yesterday and the fading memories of visions that he did not understand before disappearing altogether. A dull ache throbbed throughout his entire body at regular intervals. He was unsure how he had gotten to his mattress or even how long he had been asleep for. Faint amounts of light illuminated the canvas of his tent, providing him with some vision.
The boy laboriously rose to his feet and the pain sharpened suddenly before subsiding back into the recesses of his head. He looked down to realize that he had slept with his armor on. There was no sign of Ferron.
His head swam with confusion as he tried to recall how he had gotten there. His foot bumped against an object next to the bed. The memories of the previous day flooded back into his head as he recognized the blade that rested at his feet. A man died by that blade yesterday, by Valentin’s own hand. The swirl of thoughts that accompanied that memory were shoved into the recesses of his spirit. Those ideas were too much for the morning and the boy decided to shove them all deep into the recesses of his mind.
Valentin gingerly exited his tent; the light of the morning caused him to squint in discomfort. The warriors posted near the entrance of the tent regarded him with a look of puzzlement at his attire but quickly lost interest. Valentin grunted a greeting towards the guards who nodded and returned to whatever conversation they had been having before his arrival.
The camp bustled in the mid-morning as most were huddled around small fires finishing dining on porridge or soups or other simmering concoctions from iron pots and pans. Some chewed on yesterday’s bread with dried meats and salted cheeses. Their hands absently wiped at the crumbs and juices that spilled from their mouths.
Watching morsels of meat being devoured made Valentin’s stomach turn for a moment; the memories of the night before caused a phantom feeling of the blood running down his throat. He placed a hand up to his neck and breathed deeply in an attempt to re-center himself before continuing forward.
Those that had finished their meals idled about in conversation, still boasting of their exploits in yesterday’s battle. They brandished their trophies from the enemy and compared their hauls. Each story of combat usurped by a more outrageous retelling of another. They pantomimed their battles and laughed boisterously at the climax of their victory.
Valentin then spotted a small group headed by a broad-shouldered boy around a small campfire and a small crowd around them. A pot simmered with cooked oats and dried fruit. They dined from wooden bowls and blew tentatively on the contents within their spoons while the broad-shouldered boy regaled them with a story. He made wide, powerful gestures and used his voice to boom to emphasize the tension of the tale. Those that were not on the battlefield for the fight looked with wide-eyes, enraptured in this tale of bravery set before them.
“And then he raised his sword over his head and swung at me! As I was unarmed I had to dodge his attacks,” the boy boasted and jumped from his seat and twisted his body to avoid the phantom blade from his tale. “He swung this way but I moved like this. He stabbed towards my stomach but I shifted like this and it missed.”
The audience made a hushed noise of excitement. Some clapped their hands together briefly but didn’t wish to interrupt the story. A handful of additional people had stopped, curious to see what the commotion was about.
“I lunged for the brute and brought him to the ground and Bassett there wrestled the blade from his grasp.” He dropped to the ground and twisted back and forth against his invisible enemy. Some of the viewers chuckled and squealed in amusement at his dedication to the act.
“And with that, the warrior surrendered and begged for his life!” the boy bellowed with a laugh as his audience laughed and cheered with him.
“What happened to the loser?” One of the audience asked.
“I left him on his coward’s walk back to his home and ancestors of course.”
The audience let out a final cheer for the boy as he returned to his seat and his meal. The audience that he had gathered began to disperse. Eventually all that remained was the original trio and Valentin standing nearby.
“Did you enjoy my story, Tiarling?” Darri asked with a wide smile on his face, acknowledging his lone remaining audience member. “Didn’t my tale make you tremble with excitement?”
Valentin found an unoccupied cushion across from Darri. “I never took you as such a wordsmith.”
“Every warrior must have skills in boasting their skills. How else are you to differentiate your achievements from everyone else? In fact, I was one of the best in the village,” Darri said with a self-satisfied face.
“Unfortunately for you, I saw you from my horse yesterday. You were out there scuttling like field mice towards the untouched corpses.” Valentin spoke in a low voice. “Did you feel at least the slightest amount of guilt stealing from the efforts of others?”
Maeve refilled her bowl with some of the pot’s contents and offered it to Valentin. His stomach awoke with the prospect of food and he silently thanked Maeve for the meal. Darri grunted in displeasure as Valentin gingerly ate the gruel. His stomach gurgled in protest but the hunger had defeated the discomfort.
“Fuck their efforts,” Darri dismissed. “I chopped trees and dug trenches for days straight. Where’s the reward for my efforts? Not all of us are handed custom armor and given a woman to share the nights with,” Darri growled but the looks from Maeve and Bassett forced him to soften his tone.
Not allowing the last words to sink in, Darri changed topics. “Sure I may have oversold the story, but look,” Darri waved a loaf of bread. “My story was entertaining enough that one of the passing bakers gave me an extra.”
Darri wrapped up the bread and handed it over to Bassett who placed it inside of a canvas bag. He then revealed a small pouch and tossed it to Valentin. The contents clanked inside the pouch and there was a heft to the leather container.
“Look inside,” Darri smirked.
When revealed to the light, Valentin saw the glint of silver and copper. He reached inside and pulled out one of the silver objects. A coin with an eagle carved into it sat in Valentin’s hand. His eyes widened slightly.
“You have eagles?” Valentin asked but Darri quickly shushed him.
“Four of them to be exact.” Darri smiled and held up his fingers to emphasize the point. “We came across a corpse with nice armor and his coin purse was still on him so we dumped half of it into our own. We’ll have enough to buy the kids a decent feast this Killicia.”
“We'll be able to do much more than that,” Bassett whispered in agreement.
“No, it’s not good enough yet,” Darri’s smile faded a bit. “But it will be enough to help me earn more. With just one of these I can purchase at least a decent gambeson.”
He took the pouch back from Valentin and squirreled it away in his tunic. “If I can get that then I can fight and earn more. Maybe then we could make a place of our own and not need to rely on others to keep us alive.”
“What about a weapon?” Valentin asked. “Or do you plan to use your bare hands out on the battlelines?”
“Well my story wasn’t a complete mistruth,” Darri admitted and leaned forward to lower his voice. “Bassett found an unclaimed sword. Isn’t that incredible? I might be able to join before the next battle.”
Valentin glanced over Bassett who refused to meet his gaze. “Darri, we watched the same battle. It’s brutal out there and I’m not sure some second hand armor and a short sword will hold you with enough regard to join a group like the Armée. I’ve been training under Hrost for well over a season and have armor sponsored by the Guerros Clan and Ferron wouldn’t send me to the front lines.”
“Don’t compare me to you,” Darri sneered in dissatisfaction. He stood up and paced over to where Valentin sat and towered over him.
Valentin was glad that Darri seemed to recover some of his fire after the sparring match but had forgotten how bull headed he could be. Hrost said he could become a competent foot soldier. Should he have more faith in the dispossessed chief boy?
“He’s right, Darri.” Maeve finally spoke up. “You’ll be running towards the ancestors if you think you’ll manage with such meager equipment.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Darri grunted. “As a Stormblood it’s always been my responsibility to fight for the village. And now that it’s gone...” Darri’s voice trailed off as he looked at the remaining kids, “If it’s gone then I still have to fight for what remains of it.”
“Can’t you do something else?” Maeve asked. “There is more you can do than fighting-”
“Have you met a Stormblood that didn’t fight, Maeve? The spirits would tremble with shame if I wasted their blessing. You know what they’d think more than any of us.”
“Well,” Maeve began to answer but fell silent.
“If you all understand, it is what I will do. But you’re right, I’m going off to take some practice swings and maybe see if I can trade for a spear.”
Darri still stood before Valentin. “This time, Valentin,” Darri looked away for a moment. “I’m going to showcase my worth to Ferron. I don’t need your help.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Before Valentin could respond to the older boy’s clam, Darri was already striding away from the fire and towards the armory.
Bassett sighed and kicked dirt over the flame, suffocating it. “Bastard scurried off without helping with all this. And I was the one that made the meal too.” He inspected the remaining contents and scraped around to create a small spoonful which he then swallowed.
“Let me help, Bassett,” Maeve offered. “I still have time before I need to assist Leith. He insisted that yesterday’s ceremony took too much out of him.”
“Thanks,” Bassett gestured to the pot, “help me carry this to water jugs so we can rinse it out.”
“Allow me to help as well. I ate your meal,” Valentin stated and began to stand but Bassett shook his head.
“No, Valentin,” Bassett responded with a quick dismissal. “Maeve and I can handle this by ourselves.”
With that, Bassett and Maeve walked away, leaving Valentin behind by himself. He had not been able to speak with Bassett in what felt like ages. Numerous things had happened to him since they had gone their separate ways at Verbosc that he wished to talk about and make sense of. Bassett seemed like one of the few people that understood Valentin, a rare confidant for the isolated boy. So why had he been so eager to leave his presence?
Valentin’s head ached once again while he over-thought the numerous topics that cycled through his mind. He stood at the dead fire at the edge of the camp for a few moments, allowing the solitude and cold air to remedy the pains in his skull.
The sky was a threatening gray, matching the landscape within his mind. Perhaps it would be best to return to his tent and sleep it away. Maybe then he could avoid the apprehension that was brewing inside him.
Breathing deeply, Valentin walked away from the dead campfire to look for Ferron. However, he turned to see a dreaded figure standing only a few steps away. How had she gotten there without him noticing? What did she want? He took a couple steps back to try to gain some extra distance from the woman.
The woman did not step to pursue him. Instead she reached out her hand and beckoned him towards her. “I was sent to bring you to Ferron. Come with me.”
Valentin did not move from his spot. He was embedded into the ground, his boots sprouting deep roots to anchor him. He would need to be chopped down and dragged away before going willingly with this person.
“Why did Ferron send you?”
“He didn’t,” she answered almost bashfully.
She had the ability to act in a way contrasting to her outwardly harsh personality that would be disarming to most men. However, it felt like Valentin saw too much of this soft side. The sickly sweet words only twisted the knife in his soul more and more. His heart was not swayed in the way that it was meant to.
“He sent Hubert but Hubert said he had more important things to attend to,” Morna explained. “I was sent instead. Can we not just go back to how well we got along in the past? I know that someone of my status is unfit for you, but do you have to go out of your way to try to avoid me?”
What was she talking about? What did she think was happening between them that would make him want to go back to how things were? Valentin did not believe that she was ignorant to his feelings.
He also saw how far Hubert’s appreciation stretched. The warrior, who Valentin had believed to understand his feelings, had begun to toy with the information now that he had grown bored. It was no coincidence that he sent Morna to Valentin for his own amusement. Perhaps he hoped Valentin would approach him, asking for retribution that Morna broke his rule of distance. Perhaps it was petty torment of someone that was now above him in the food chain. Regardless of the reason, Valentin was convinced it was intentional.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Valentin flatly denied.
“I’ve been asked relentlessly about the two of us. I would have loved to answer and tell everyone about our Faur together but I was ordered by Ferron not to discuss it.” She offered a depressed sigh. “It’s so obvious to the camp what our feelings are to have figured it out so quickly. If you really wanted to, I’m sure you could tell Ferron how you feel and we can be together again.”
Was this a joke? Was she teasing him with the same rumors that he had to endure at the bonfire? It was the only possibility that the boy’s mind could rationalize. He was being toyed with, his pain made the punchline.
“I do not wish to return to how things were” Valentin rejected. “Tell me where Ferron is and I will go myself. You don’t need to waste your time escorting me.”
“I must return there anyways. It would make no sense for us to go separately,” she insisted, beckoning him over to her. Her eyes looked saddened by his rejection.
Valentin almost moved towards her without thinking. His mind reverted to his previous need of subservience towards her. Bystanders were beginning to take note of this tiff, the presumed lover’s quarrel that was taking place out in the open. He was aware now that people talked, especially about matters of the heart. He did not wish for another round of rumors at his expense, to be used to humiliate him and twist his heart further.
He briskly walked towards the woman by his own choice. He purged his mind of her name, of their past. This was just a warrior that was sent for him. Nothing more, nothing less. He would see her around camp, she is just another face.
“Let’s move quickly then. I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
It seemed that wandering eyes and loose tongues were unavoidable no matter what he had decided to do at that moment. The pair of them walking silently together through camp would fuel ideas and spread rapidly. Sights of their argument would spurn different words and opinions.
He could not shake the idea that somehow this was his fault. If he hadn’t been so hungry. If he hadn’t been so trusting of the kindness of strangers. If he had known how to use the powers inside him. If he had done something, anything, different, this could have been avoided. Now, he was forced to act like his lowest days were an enviable achievement. That this person next to him bestowed upon him a gift that even powerful warriors had not obtained. Their romance only stymied by the difference in their station.
“Are you being cold because of Ferron?” Morna asked.
Though the question had passed the woman’s lips alone, Valentin had felt as though it were an accusation levied upon him by the entire camp.
“It is not by Ferron’s order that I’m avoiding you,” Valentin answered in a low voice so that he could not be overheard.
She grabbed his arm and Valentin jumped. “Then what is the reason that you are no longer seeing me? Weren’t we happy?” She questioned him with pleading eyes.
What was she trying to accomplish with these questions? Was there an answer that she was trying to coax out of him? Valentin’s anxiety was on high alert and his heart jumped around in his chest.
He froze for a short time, unable to break free as he should. Something embedded deep within his spirit arrested his limbs with invisible tendrils and caused him to seize up. The woman’s eyes brought forth the feelings of smallness and hopelessness that had been instilled in him. His instincts told him to surrender and allow things to pass. It was the easiest way for her to leave sooner and the interaction to end.
A solution he could not afford. Anything that would encourage her would lead to future confrontations. Perhaps, even after all the days of training, the situation on that night in the hunting lodge would not have changed. He reasoned that it was a spiritual failing on his part. He lacked something crucial but did not know what. Something that other people clearly had. Ferron and Hrost would have fought to the death if they were in his position. Did Bassett fight the first time?
Something unfamiliar coursed inside him. Feral rage distilled into a spark ripped across his psyche, painting his mind in a blood red.
Succumbing to the instinct, Valentin ripped his arm away from the woman. She stared at him with a look of surprise and took a half step back, words failing to form on her lips.
“Don’t decide on your own how I felt about us,” Valentin barked at the woman.
However, the most important words failed to leave his mouth. The true extent of how he felt did not form inside of him. It was a pointless endeavor that would only serve to rub his own soul raw in exchange for some words. Words that he did not expect to be understood.
So what did he expect from her? To be attacked? To be taunted for his experiences?
She teared up instead, further throwing Valentin into a state of confusion. Nothing about this person ever made sense. Why was this harsh warrior crying about this rejection? What was there about him that she coveted so much? Knowing wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t miraculously undo the past. If she was a reasonable person, this would have never happened in the first place.
Valentin wanted to storm away but still needed the woman to guide him. “We need to stop wasting time, show me where Ferron is.”
The woman now sheepishly led the outwardly authoritative boy to the outskirts of camp. Not a word further had crossed between them. Valentin believed he had successfully survived whatever cruel game had been played at his expense.
Druids and apothecaries formed sick tents in the field behind the camp so that the throes of death would not infect the hale warriors. Most of the wounded were not under Ferron’s banner but were those of the Etrineux peasantry and downed Curs. There were a scant few that bore the heraldry of Marche as the horsemen of Arven took it upon themselves to slay as many as they could manage.
Among the forms and figures that scattered the final battlefield of the infirm, Valentin could not make out Ferron. However, the boy did spot his instructor speaking to the hunched over form of Zalavo. He wove his way through the wounded towards the pair.
“Look who decided to show up,” Hrost remarked gruffly.
“Good morning, Hrost,” Valentin answered sourly. “Where is Ferron? I heard he had summoned me.”
Hrost spat on the grass next to him while Zalavo shot him a stern look. “Left already. While you were out messing around with a woman, we’ve been planning our next moves.”
Valentin swallowed his tongue over correcting the misunderstanding. He had already decided it wasn’t worth the effort just to be disappointed again.
“Tiarna Celfor has yet to make contact with his soldiers stationed in the forest,” Hrost briefed. “Messengers have returned to find that the position in the center has been set to the torch and abandoned. We are moving the camp forward and scouting out the path towards Etrineux. When you are ready to depart, you and I will meet the forward scouts further up.”
Valentin’s sour mood worsened from Hrost’s misplaced assertions. It was clear that today was going to be a cursed day. One did not have to be proficient at reading the omens to know that nothing would go right on a day such as this.
“I heard from Leith that you killed someone yesterday. I suppose I should congratulate you on your milestone towards a future of violence,” Zalavo remarked without a hint of praise, breaking the silence.
He dipped his tools into cups of clear liquid. Blood and other tissues were separated from the objects and turned the liquid to a sickly red. More buoyant chunks of flesh swam around at the tops of the cups to offer a showcase of what had sunk below.
“Aye, I heard that as well,” Hrost commented. “A deggan at that.”
“It was nothing more than an execution of a man that would have died from his wounds anyways,” Valentin said without a scrap of pride in his voice.
“A correct attitude to have,” Hrost replied with approval. “I can’t count how many nobles' attitudes grew more insufferable after they wet their blades for the first time on a person incapable of fighting back. Never overlook an enemy.”
Another conversation turned to a sermon. Everything had a moral or a lesson to it. He knew that his kill meant nothing to his growth as a fighter. Hrost spoke as though an obvious platitude was a learning moment for him. Valentin’s already twisted mood polluted anything spoken to him into its worst possible form.
Who was Zalavo to cast judgment upon his actions? Killihan consented to his death. Valentin only brought the man an end to his suffering. Zalavo did not know the guilt that he felt over his act. Yet here he was, callously commenting on something that he knew little about.
He did not attempt to hide his visible contempt for all those that spoke to him today. It was clear to the adults around him that today’s interactions would be corrosive.
Gesturing to the pale man near Zalavo, Valentin asked petulantly, “Why are we healing our enemies?”
“If you had the ability to save lives, would you use it?”
Valentin gave his response without the same careful consideration that he would use for Ferron. “I would save everyone I felt deserved it.”
“Choosing not to save someone is the same as killing them if you have the ability to,” Zalavo countered dryly. “You must live with the consequences of your choices. Do you have faith in your ability to effectively judge a person? How much do you truly know about someone else with the narrow windows in which we view each other?”
Valentin’s antagonism was losing steam at Zalavo’s even voice. He knew the answer to the question posed to him. He knew very little about others. The true nature of someone’s soul could easily be hidden and manipulated. Outside of the woman behind him, Valentin wasn’t sure he could cast confident judgment upon anyone in the camp.
Not entirely devoid of his waspish edge and a lingering desire for some spiritual revenge, Valentin answered. “Saving everyone means that you save terrible people as well. If refusing to save someone means killing them, then does saving someone that then kills make you a killer as well?”
Zalavo remained silent for a moment. Hrost raised his eyebrows at Valentin’s rebuttal. The typically reserved boy showed an uncharacteristic fire.
“By that logic, I should save nobody so they will not be able to do potential harm. If my choice is between saving and forsaking, I choose saving. All these people will survive because I have the power to decide it. If my selfish decision causes harm, so be it.”
Zalavo continued, “From what I have heard, you are a person that will have great power in the future. You will be able to single-handedly turn the fortunes of battle. You will be free to pursue every petty vendetta and punish any that displease you. There will be few, if any, that can keep you in check or deliver punishment unto you. It will be up to your own morality that will determine how tyrannical you become when you hold the lives of hundreds in your hands. You would do well to consider the weight that such unchecked blessings provide.”