At the break of dawn, just as Lita started leaving Sur, they were finally allowed to drop down where they stood. The exhausted main force still hasn’t caught up with the vanguard although they were within visible range now, at the edge of a small village rich in cattle. Some of the soldiery even asked for permission to go to the farm and requisition provisions for immediate consumption but Daemas strictly forbade it. Instead, they were to wait for the food to be prepared and rest by the side of the road. Gunther ordered his underlings to stack their weapons and Vorod along with him were to stand the first watch. Everyone except permanently jaw-aching Vorod welcomed the decision and embraced the long awaited rest hoping that their empty stomachs will allow them at least some respite. Finally settling comfortably on the dewy grass, Atef’s last thought as he waded into slumber turned into a dream.
A roast, gigantic, delicious, soaked in spiced meat juices grew larger and larger before him. It overtook his vision and he, like an ant, attacked it with eager ravenousness until he was stuffed, done, full beyond any measure. And then, a moment later, stricken by some treacherous curse, he was hungry again while the roast just grew larger and juicer. It was a bittersweet nightmare that reverberated his physical suffering sinking and morphing eventually into a schizophrenic collage. Suddenly, he was waging war and dying over and over across hundreds of battlefields while a ghoulish skeleton shouted and pushed him into the maw of crazed slaughter. And all of that was observed by Erleia and Ervel standing hugged atop a mountain made of the most delectable sweets. Their mouths were devoid of teeth and they screeched like hyenas, their bellow having a serpentine undertone. The bell clanged and he ate, fought and died all the while suffering under the cackle that deafened the roar of the battle. And then they all fused into a monstrous mix, a shape with hideous, otherworldly quality that made everything incomprehensible. This despicable putrefied mess was to him a sickly attractive and tasty treat which grew sharp barbs that killed him as he ate. It clanged and cackled and shouted and shapeshifted ensnaring him in the madness forever. Primordial laid bare, expressed as a crazed eruption of his synapses.
He woke drenched in sweat, barely holding in a shout.
- You snore! - was Samir’s welcome back to reality.
- Too loudly! I can’t sleep! Like scraping fine steel with stone, that’s what it sounds like!l - added Hugo annoyed.
- Go over there, away from us! Bother others! Hook-nosed! - ordered Rolf.
- Yea Hook-nosed! - agreed Samir liking the sound and appropriateness of the nickname.
- I canna not go far. Need to ask Gunther - replied Atef.
- Do you see him here?! - Dartan angrily joined in. - No! That’s because he isn’t here. I want to finally catch some shut eye before he returns and comes up with some new way of keeping us hungry, thirsty or dead tired. Get away, last night was bad enough! Today that pig-snorting of yours is so much worse!
Atef looked around and found no friendly, or at least, accepting gazes. He then finally looked at Vorod who was standing guard nearby.
- Go away, I will tell Gunther when he is back. Even awake it is a pain to listen, you damn pillock!
Not knowing the meaning of pillock, Atef picked himself up and found a spot a three dozen steps away from anyone.
- Pillock! It canna not be a good word. Must be some nasty nastiness. Like wha’ I dreamed. How this happened? Tell me?! Anyone?! Suns, smiths in the sky, mas. Mutt? Where are you, you promised to be near!
The dream invoked all the precariousness and tragedy of his position. It broke out of its prison, bellowing despair that buzzed in Atef’s ears. He was a lamb for the slaughter, a joke sent forth with a sharpened, blackened stick to fight unknown monsters which poured over from Untar. The realization buckled and broke the gates of his defenses, forged and tempered in the depths of the Pit. A wave of panic overwhelmed him, it was suddenly hard to breathe. Just the thirty odd steps away from his brothers in arms made him feel so alone, an unwanted among all the unwanted. Like a babe left by the side of the road, he felt like he should scream, but he couldn’t get enough air. It was hard to breathe, hard to stop the festering overdrive in his mind that told him over and over: “You will die! All is for nothing. This is the punishment!” It repeated like a blessed and ordained certainty and its truth choked him as if it is better that he dies now from overexertion and a panic explosion of his heart rather than make it messy on the battlefield. And on top of all that, Gunther angrily walked towards him.
- Did I order that you separate from your group, recruit?!
Atef couldn’t speak, he just breathed frantically and deeply, blind to Gunther, blind to Vorod who was nursing a fresh bruise on his other cheek, blind to the others in his line who were trying to glimpse from afar.
- Did I make an order, recruit!? - repeated Gunther with thunderclap in his voice.
Atef froze, fell to the ground like a wasted piece of marble that could have been a masterpiece. Gunther walked around him, poked him with his foot and then grabbed his tunic and started dragging him across the dirt. Atef’s face burned, the grass and dirt went up his crooked nose, his hands scraped and bled trapped under the weight of his body.
- He sleeps with you! He is a part of you just as you are a part of him! This will mean life or death when we stand as a line against the sons of bitches from Untar! When the food is finally served you will each get a half portion! I will personally stand next to the pot and see to it! Let that make you think what it is like not to follow orders! Back to sleep!
Gunther’s shouting awakened at least six other groups scattered around his, but he didn’t care. The lesson was universal and all the daftly uninitiated around were to benefit from it. Regaining his composure, he spat in front of his subordinates and walked off threatening Vorod with a swing of his fist through the air. Atef just stayed where Gunther dropped him, healing his soul.
*
The smell of food wafting through the air was the conversation starter which befriended recruits and soldiers alike. Although many knew each other's faces as passersby in Jarat, the eager expectation of the meal prompted them to chat for the very first time. Bonds were shyly beginning to form as the din of incessant and endless introductions, small talk about trade and family, reminiscing of great treats eaten in the past and wondering of how well the cooks are going to prepare the food grew through the awaiting troops. Some were even laughing at cheap or clever jokes, briefly forgetting where they were. And then the time to eat came. The lined up men clanged their wooden spoons against simple bowls, forming a symphony with the clang of the pot as the ladle hit its edge during each serve. The ensuing munching, burping, farting and all other sustenance related sounds enriched the melody and gave it a brisk tempo; an ode to devourment that only an army or a swarm of locusts could achieve. Like the tribes of old who invoked gods’ favor through the music of banging drums and hollow tree trunks, their spontaneous melody satisfied the god within them.
After the meal, which mainly consisted of lentils and gruel, they marched again. Daemas’ plan was to progress through the first half of the night and warily rest through the second, waiting for sunlight before proceeding, as they were getting close to the last place where Untar’s raiders pillaged and burned. Barely staving off hunger with his meager portion, Atef grew silent as he marched, finding just enough strength to get himself back to a state of mind which was devoid of all thinking. He let himself be carried on this latest wind of change to whatever destiny had in store for him. Given the circumstances, that was the safest bet to preserve his quickly fading willpower. And he was one of many who felt the same despite the good mood in which the march started. The landscape proved to be another source of challenge. It transitioned as they marched becoming more intimidating and challenging to everyone’s morale. They were gradually stepping into the Heresborg forests; an endless, dense and dark realm divided by an upland, on which the township of the same name existed, from its twin, the forests that reigned the lands of Gaut. Despite the air of dread among the recruits stemming from reduced visibility, the soldiery and the knights remained calm yet vigilant, confident in the vanguard and the scouts sent ahead to warn of any impending danger. Nonetheless, the forests took their toll, sinking in the fear of the unknown. At first, it was invisible; a step of the soldiers who set the tempo became fractionally shorter, a recruit would grumble under voice, a knight would let out a dreary sigh. Then it became noticeable. They were moving visibly slower as a military formation falling well behind their schedule, the horses were getting anxious, shaking their heads whilst huffing and puffing, the weapons and provisions miraculously became heavier and someone even dared uttering a prayer for the salvation of the soul.
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And then an old soldier who many times before danced and flirted with fear on a blade’s edge broke into song to dispel her tricks:
Mother gave me to you my sire,
To lead me to the promised war.
I will bleed and they will bleed,
but the Empire’ll conquer them all.
Is my destiny to die or return to her arms,
Can you tell me before I go…
To march into battle with brethren by my side
As the hordes towards me grow.
Tell me oh tell me, my glorious sire,
and if you can’t, I will still know
That the Twin Suns shine, oh so bright…
For the sons, sung about
In the Realm’s tales of yore.
The song was immediately picked up by the other soldiers and its power grew as more joined the singing. Atef was roused from his woes by Gunther’s voice which sounded like that of a young man, vigorous and joyful, as if reminiscing of something long past. He slowly picked the words, filling the gaps with what he thought he heard and after the fifth repetition he shyly joined in. Others were already on the note, growing louder with each repetition and the song carried them on, dispelling the ire and grudge of a measly meal.
*
In the middle of the night, when the pattern of the clouds in the sky, the way Lita hugged Sur and the area in which they were treading all seemed as auspicious omens of safety, Daemas decided to halt the march and form a defensive perimeter. Soldiers quickly organized the recruits and formed watches and Gunther picked Atef for their area of the camp. With his blackened stick tightly gripped, standing as a stern sentinel in the night, he was to make amends for disobeying orders. And at first, Atef did exactly what he was asked. His gaze didn’t waver, his mind stayed empty and his resolve to execute orders was without par among men under Daemas’ command. He looked into the darkness, soaking in the majesty of a forest in the night, still learning immense lessons about the lively world above. The night beckoned him, disfiguring the sounds of the nocturnal predators and prey, weaving fantasies in his mind about what is in the maw of the void ahead. And he grew receptive to them, they filled the emptiness he vowed to preserve throughout his watch. His imagination needed something to do and bounce back from the terror of the nightmare that befell him. The wolf came to his mind, and he remembered how he befriended it. He extended that reasoning to other beings that lurked about and called out in the night. What could they look like, and could they be his friends?
- Where Mutt couldda be? Peekin’ and leerin’ me in the dark? Protectin’ me in weird muttish way? Shouldda I auhahauh ‘im?
But he didn’t, no boy should cry wolf in the dark of an unknown forest. And so he flushed Mutt out of his thoughts and refocused on the sounds, inventing the looks of the animals they belonged to in his mind's eye. It was a way to pass the time, to gaze into the dark and find purpose in such an act, a way to dream…
A sharp pain sprawled all over his face and his left hand instinctively flew to cover it. His right though…
Magic roll: 64 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to fire magic ; current level 3/50
Madness roll: 34 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +0 to madness ; current level 9/100
Secret roll: 56 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to a mystery ; current level 9/100
- Aaaaaaah, you trickstering mongrel! How did you even?!
Both of them dropped to the ground squirming in pain.
Magic roll: 68 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to healing magic ; current level 4/50
Atef held his nose, calming the profuse pain best he could. The wellspring of agony subsided as his hands released what he perceived as a cold mountainous stream of balming energy. It soothed him, giving him the strength to open his eyes and begin to realize what just happened. His airways felt clear and powerful, gushing air into his lungs at an extent he forgot was possible; reminding him of a time before the punch to his face disfigured his nose. He frantically looked around him to identify the assailant and find his spear. Just as he was ready to shout “Alarm, attack!” he recognized the shabby armor and a glistening scar in Lita’s moonlight.
Gunther was holding his burnt hand which took the most of the brunt. The rest of Atef’s fiery cloud of sparks landed on his face, searing most of his facial hair. Both his hand and face were red and burnt to an extent that open wounds will appear where skin and tissue were incinerated, but the damage was on the milder side. His hand will have a few sizable patches of crimson, oozing meat while his face will forever look like it was scarred with pockmarks.
- Look what you've done to me you dumb piece of shite! How?! What in the Twin Suns’ name?!
Atef quickly looked around trying to see who else noticed or heard what happened as his heart raced to accommodate his mind’s panicking need to understand what consequences are about to transpire. He saw two guards on their approach to investigate from far left, while three other recruits alarmed from their slumber by Gunther’s yelp were organizing to alarm the whole camp. Their shadows broken and dancing by the fires were giants that will stomp Atef with their diligence.
- I’ll squeak ya everything just don’t tell ‘em! Please boss! Please! I’m afraid!
Gunther paid him a long inquisitive look as the two guards made their final strides towards them.
- What happened here sire?
- Nothing of importance, recruit. Return to your post.
- You’re hurt, sire. Shall we fetch a healer?
- I was a bit too zealous in a personal matter so no, that would be all recruit! Now step away, this recruit will help me with my wounds. And inform those three recruits on the other side not to get the whole camp up because of me. Execute!
The two guards looked at each other and then at their superior and just proceeded to do what they were told, their decision being as unencumbered with reasoning as it was smart.
- So recruit Atef, you cost me a good few weeks in bandages and judging by the stinging on my face and the burning below my nose, some quite nasty scars. I blame myself for what happened so I will have a pinch of patience and restraint. Quickly, explain yourself now or I will strangle you with these messed up hands! - commanded Gunther wincing in pain as he habitually but unwisely clenched his burnt hand.
Atef gulped deeply.
- I canna not explain it good boss. Most was like a dream, before the woods. I remember the Pit, the freedom offered by two masters, Togrin and Everard and then blank, darkness and then woods and then talking to Mutt, and then sparks, just like now, when freeing Aebor, Erleia.
- You better start making sense quick boy! All this means nothing to me!
- It is like I canna… I canna do things. Just now I stopped my nose hurting with just a pat!
- That nose only hurts you because you damn fell asleep while on guard and snored like a dozen fat beavers in their dam. I put it back in place!
- Ahhhh, so that was that. And I…
- You created fire out of thin air you daft git!
- And you never see some bloke do that before?
- Of course I haven't, are you even dafter than I thought?! That is impossible!
- I… I didn’t know. I thought maybe but I didn’t know.
- It is impossible! So drop the charade and explain yourself!
- Truth, boss, please! Only truth - said Atef the same way as he used to in the Pit everytime he was wrongfully accused of a transgression.
- I don’t believe you! What kind of flint you hide in your sleeves to make so many sparks? Tell me!
- Truth, boss! Canna I show you?! Make pain go away?!
Gunther’s left fist was pulsating with anger. This little lout was persuading him into fairytales and nonsense that he stopped believing in after his father slapped him for the first time and ordered not to slack off in the field.
- Sure - he said cooly and drew the dagger from its scabbard on his right with an admirable ambidexterity. - You can make the pain go away, but with this under your throat.
Fear encrusted itself in Atef’s eyes which saw the blade’s tip spiraling towards his neck. Its hypnotic pattern made him flinch, and Gunther turned the wider, blunt side of it, closed the distance and placed it on Atef’s throat. This was his signal that Atef shouldn’t worry; for now. Although logic of survival ordered he should end his would be tormentor-killer and disappear into the night, Atef believed in the wonder he performed for Erleia. And with that certainty, he turned himself into a blank vessel that wants to do something good. His hand started hovering cautiously above Gunther’s fearing the painful contact. The dagger turned upward as Gunther expected the burning sensation to go into overdrive once Atef grabs his hand. The dagger kissed Atef’s throat and got a drop of blood as a reward and then absolution struck home. He dropped the dagger in disbelief as Atef’s hand touched his burnt flesh. He felt an untold number of soft kisses, more loving and tender than the dearest ones he experienced in many pleasure houses. They coursed through the flesh, soothed his nerves, whispered goodness in his ears and professed relief of all pain, security, love. He felt in the arms of a protective force that would fly him away from this damn forest, this damn campaign and his damn life into something better, blissful. He grabbed Atef’s hand and put it on his face, as if it was a hand of a lover, a nursing woman who had all the solace in the world just for him. It lasted for only moments and then the feeling was over. Atef backed two steps away, uncertainly observing.
- What did just happen?
- I tried fixing ya boss - chimed in Atef under voice and hoping that he pleased the old wardog.
Gunther looked at his hand and saw that reddish, burnt flesh was renewed, though not completely. His hand was in dried scabs that would heal in the matter of days. He rushed his hand to his face and felt smooth skin, devoid only of the prideful mustache. He was touched by a saint.
He dropped to one knee and stayed there not knowing what would be the right thing to say.
- Boss?
- You… I don’t know what you are, but… you are unique.
- Please boss stand up! Someone will see! I am afraid, I canna not let others know.
- And they won’t if you wish it so.