“Mr. Dribas, wake up. We’ve arrived.”
Achlos groaned and woke up with a start. He cringed and ducked his head to not scratch the hansom’s roof, a futile gesture now that his antlers were gone. He rubbed at his eyes and saw that they were now outside of Apricot Orchard, the many fire bowls blazing happily away against the night.
“I fell asleep?” The moose muttered, wishing to stretch yet remembering there was little room for his long limbs in the carriage’s tight confines.
“That you did.” Tyras said with a smile. “But I decided you deserved the extra rest. You’ve worked harder than any of us these last few weeks.” Achlos felt a strange pride at Tyras’s praise. Almost unconsciously, he’d come to value his new roommate’s and commanding officer’s opinion more than… well, anyone else so far.
This morning he’d received the uplifting news that he’d passed the Constabulary’s written exam, with flying colors no less, which meant that more or less, he was now a police officer. All that was left was Tyras’s word that he was ready, which was all but guaranteed, and he'd receive his badge.
Him… a constable. The mere thought of that would have made him scoff a few months ago. Yet now, he was looking forward to it with childish enthusiasm. If only his parents could see him now… the thought of their flabbergasted expressions and disappointment brought a smile to his tired muzzle.
In an effort to better fit into the city’s culture, Achlos had bought a cane, which seemed to be the current masculine fashion, even if one was in no need of a walking aid. If he had to guess, it was also at least partly due to canes being a semi-adequate weapon against street roughs, given Ignisdava’s ever-increasing crime rates. It was a simple, yet elegant thing, made of oak and varnished to a mirror shine. It didn’t contain a secret sword like Tyras’s, but the stainless steel grip was heavy and had a few sharp edges which would have caused nasty wounds. Like most men his age who used a cane, it was more for style than use, but Achlos found himself grateful for the extra support as he stumbled out of the hansom.
His legs and arms were burning from the day’s drills and he longed to stay in the carriage and let the cabbie take him wherever he damn well pleased, but his bed was only a few minutes away now.
His bed… the thought of that still felt strange, yet more and more comfortable every day. Seeing the twenty story Apricot Orchard apartment complex, its flowing curves in place of sharp edges, its ever-burning fire bowls and the stone dragon standing vigil above it had begun to fill him with a sense of contentment and relief whenever he returned home.
Home… yet another foreign concept to him.
Tyras stepped out, still visibly winded, yet with far more grace. The man simply did not get tired. He seemed to have immense reserves of energy which he only unleashed if absolutely necessary. It had probably kept him alive all those years in the trenches.
“Come on…” Tyras gave his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Just another week and we’ll be ready for deployment. The rest is just weapon and equipment procurement.”
“Were you able to secure us dragons?” Achlos asked as they entered the building. The coffee house was disappointingly closed. Tyras puckered his lips.
“I’ve negotiated with Chief Phoebus at length. Unfortunately, it’s not just up to him. The Riot Amelioration Unit and the regular Air Police need dragons, especially since both civil unrest in the city and air piracy up in the skies are both on an uptick. If he takes away dragons from either faction to give to a new, unproven unit, which lo and behold, is led by his former protégé in the war, it’s going to make a lot of powerful people in the Force unhappy. So far, he can only guarantee us two mounts.”
Achlos frowned.
“That would mean that-“
“Three would need to ride a single dragon, as there’s five of us, yes.” His commander completed his sentence, his tone carrying only the slightest annoyance. “Unfortunately, dragons are a finite resource and we used them like there’s no end to them. The Osnyan dragon population is half of what it was before the War.”
They rode the elevator in silence. Achlos thought of the great beasts that had turned around so many battles he was part of. Their huge forms casting shade over the landscape, their fiery breath enveloping entire trenches, Alliance soldiers cheering and hooting whenever they arrived…
Then he thought of how many fell to enemy fire, especially the anti-dragon rifle which later became the anti-material rifle, swarms of perytons overwhelming them, ripping flesh off the dragons’ bodies. Of all the times riders returned with their beasts barely able to glide back, mortally wounded, wailing pitifully as their riders sobbed and pressed their pistols against their scaly necks to put them out of their misery…
His grim reverie was mercifully cut short by the elevator pinging at their floor. He allowed himself to relax, thinking of the leftover dinner which Tyras’s wife or governess had doubtlessly kept warm for them, of a quick cigar and evening paper by the fire, then blissful sleep.
Tyras unlocked the door, and-
“Congratulations!” A dozen voices from the apartment rang out. Both men looked up dumbstruck at the crowd inside their living room. Aside from Tyras’s family there were a few others, all elegantly dressed and beaming. Achlos instantly recognized Chief Phoebus, the stocky horse presently helping himself to a large cheese pie. For a moment he wondered if he was supposed to stand at attention. Rhodika walked up to her husband and embraced him deeply, surprising him with a deep kiss.
“I’m proud of you, dear.” She murmured. Tyras reciprocated the gesture, yet the confusion was evident on his face. The confusion only grew when everyone began to clap.
Tyras looked around, spotting the large cake on the dinner table. Various courses from steaks to vegetable casseroles to pastries were spread out around it, partially or completely consumed, yet the cake itself was left untouched, evidently awaiting his arrival.
“What’s… all this?” He asked dumbly, prompting laughter from everyone in the room. Rhodika gave him a cocky smile.
“Come now, Inspector. You can figure it out. All the clues are at your disposal.”
Tyras looked at the cake again. It was sufficiently large to feed everyone in the room with a generous slice and was adorned with three wax figurines. A groom and a bride, both feline and painted to resemble his and Rhodika’s fur patterns, as well as a third, smaller figure of a child and a fourth of a baby stroller. They were surrounded by eight candles, which Sabina was in the process of lighting.
Candles. An ornament with a million different meanings, especially in the Fakonan faith, yet on a cake it had only one: the completion of a year. What had been eight years ago?
It couldn’t be their anniversary. He prided himself on never having forgotten his wedding anniversary. How could he? When they both thought that their wedding day would also be their last day on Horti and they took each other right after they exchanged vows and shells were covering them in mud. And anyway, the anniversary had been four months ago.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Victory Day had been three months ago. Though that was when the armistice was signed, hostilities hadn’t fully ceased for another few months, with various Eclipse Empire splinter groups, and especially the Yavuz Shannate, wanting to continue the fight. And so, soldiers had been mustered out at various intervals, he himself hadn’t been discharged until-
Tyras’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Eight years ago, on this exact day, The 33rd Day Of The Month Of Harvest, he’d been honorably discharged from the eight year conflict.
Eight years as a soldier, eight as a civilian. Finally, he had more time spent with his wife, nursing his two children and providing for his family than he did holding young men in his arms as they died, dodging artillery shells or killing.
The knowledge that he’d outlived the war by so long filled him with a relief and joy he hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling. It was the same feeling as when he read “WAR IS OVER: ECLIPSE EMPIRE SURRENDERS” on the broadsheets spread around the trenches. Yet now, it had eight years of happiness and plenty behind it.
He felt his left eye grow moist, while his right seemed to try and recall what its purpose was in times like these, then remembered it was dead. He embraced his wife again, squeezing her tight, burying his head in her neck.
“Thank you.” He muttered. He allowed a single tear to soak into her fur. They stood like that for a good few minutes, before he finally pulled away.
“A true hero of the Light!” Chief Phoebus cried, raising his champagne glass. “Fought to defend his country from day one, was picked for the most effective trench raider unit of the entire war and decorated thirteen times for acts of bravery and valor we’d quail even to think about! The best and bravest man I’ve ever had the privilege of leading! A toast to Tyras Maloko!” He raised his glass, cheering, the other guests cheering as well. Sabina served both Tyras and Achlos champagne.
Tyras, however, did not join in the celebratory mood. He grabbed a fork from a nearby table and tapped the crystal thrice.
“Thank you, Chief… but I propose… not.” He said somberly. Everyone went quiet, the general party atmosphere vanishing like dust in the wind.
“Sixteen years ago, the Eclipse Empire blockaded our port in our colony of New Lumina over a trading rights disagreement with the natives. One of our state-run companies, deciding that further delays and losing more money was unacceptable, decided to try and run past the blockade anyway. They were shot down and none of the crew survived. Attacking a civilian trade ship is tantamount to a declaration of war. And so, the Eclipse Empire, deciding that war was inevitable anyway, invaded.
Later, the casus belli morphed, shifted and mutated into a burning desire to wipe the other off the map. So, like a gambler who’s already lost most of his savings at the casino, both sides pushed more and more, justifying it by saying ‘we’re in too deep to pull out now, it’s all or nothing.’ And indeed, it was both all and nothing.
“But at the end of the day, that is what twenty to twenty-five million soldiers and about as many innocent civilians, died for over the course of eight years of bloodshed and destruction. Fifty million souls perished over a botched trading agreement. This great city has four and a half million souls calling it home. If, gods forbid, every single man, woman and child in Ignisdava were to die right now, we wouldn’t even reach a tenth of the scale of sheer death this conflict has wrought upon the world.”
Tyras let what he’d said sink in. The party seemed frozen in time, everyone stock still as they looked down at their drinks, yet none making any move to take a sip.
“And we did so with the most barbaric weapons ever devised. Flamethrowers, poison gas, airships capable of bombing civilian targets deep within enemy territory, it was a race not only to defeat the other, but outdo them in inflicting the most horrific death possible, thinking it would dissuade the enemy from continuing. Invariably, it only emboldened them.”
“But the damned moon heathens started it!” One of the other guests, a young white-furred wolf, most likely a fellow constable, barked. Something Achlos had noticed both during the War and as a civilian was that Fakonan wolves tended to be the most pious. Almost as if they had something extra to prove because their species was associated with the hated moon.
“I do not disagree, Sergeant Albinus. They attacked first and we had to defend ourselves. But let us not pretend that we were blameless in this conflict. The deportations in the Rigurian Eastern Isles after the Lunist population rioted in favor of the Eclipse Empire when they sent troops to assist us… hundreds of thousands chased away from their homes or killed outright, even those not involved in the uprising. Their sole fault was worshiping the wrong gods. Most have not received their homes back even to this day and have either joined Stateless tribes or perished.
“And when we finally turned the tide and drove the invaders back, breaking through into Alexandrios, the first two weeks were marked by violence, looting and rape against the civilian population as our soldiers took all the anger and hatred they’d built up over seven years of foreign occupation out on the enemy’s civilians. It took the Grand Ektore himself ordering that any soldier found harming civilians in any way shape or form outside of strict self defense is to be burned at the stake for us to become the exemplary occupying force we are now remembered as.
“We do not like to remember these shameful instances of our own barbarism. It is easier to reduce it to a storybook morality where we were solely the victims, and they, solely the aggressor. Do not misunderstand me: I still believe that our cause was just and fighting in the war is still my proudest achievement. But when one fights the dark, they must surround their heart with candles, lest it become enveloped in the darkness as well. And I hope, my dear friends and comrades, that we will be better at lighting those candles in the future… though not having to would be far more preferable.”
The silence continued. The wolf who’d been so eager to proclaim his patriotism and faith now slunk back into the crowd, staring at the carpet.
Tyras raised his glass.
“Therefore… I propose a new toast. To every man and woman who fought and died in the worst conflict the world has ever seen. For the warriors of both the Light and Lune. To those who were torn apart by artillery, to those who died coughing out pieces of their lungs beneath toxic gas, to those killed in brutal hand to hand combat. To those whose body survived, yet soul died, and are now forever screaming and sobbing in insane asylums.” He paused. “To those I have killed. To the fallen.”
“To the fallen!” Everyone in the room said as one.