110. Spring. The big tree beside Shoreside.
When the Plaguehearts’ attacks finally lulled in intensity, we had the chance to strike back from the areas we’ve fortified – but we couldn’t without overstepping on various Medullian breakaway states. The steppes have been shattered into various governments, many of which have returned to feudal clan-based systems.
How they govern themselves is not up to us, but the amount of instability they’re causing makes it troublesome for our forces.
But today, I’m attending a funeral once again.
It started three cycles ago, we started losing Strelya to cancer of the blood. She had no remaining kin and the others knew not of her past tribe. Yet like many of us, Pulvera became her real home.
We held a parade and Anthrax helped Aspera and I to work on her story, which then led to the chronicles of many of the original Heartbreakers. Inspiring stories of the last era of adventurers.
Two months before she went, she had the fun idea of getting archers across the land to recreate a specific set of shots she took. 3 quick bolts onto a small moving target across a whole field in the dark with multiple obstructions. I remember now, it was the same scenario when she took out that goblin shaman.
She later passed at 132 cycles old. Even in what I’d call her 80’s, she could still run faster than most of most athletic soldiers and students, and was still the top archer amongst those who practiced it recreationally here. She was leaner than Arsalan, but their upper back muscles were no joke.
That smug look on her face when she left, I’ll take that as a win. But seeing someone’s casket get lowered honestly never gets easier. It really, really never gets easier.
Anthrax was trying to hide his tears upon Nightingale’s shoulders, but her crying didn’t help much either.
“She really mattered so much to you, huh? I’ve never seen you tear up before. I was trained under Anthrax instead.” Rumi told me.
Solomon warmly rested his hand over my shoulder as I slightly hunched over my cane. “I finished binding the manuscript about her. We can have it mass-produced and printed soon.”
Then, two cycles ago Kantax also passed. It was a quiet affair. She didn’t want anything flashy, she just wanted to spend time with me. Her health had suddenly caught up with her. She had some regrets, and told me about most of them.
“My dear, I have a request. Don’t try to find-”
“Don’t try to find my half-sister until I can guarantee the world’s safer. You told me this the first time when we got that picture of her decades ago. You told me this again the second and fifteenth time last week. Today, the seventeenth and eighteenth time. I promised you that I wouldn’t until I should.”
She held me close and cried every time she said it. She knew she was slipping, and I had to watch; sometimes she’d even beg for forgiveness, but from who I’m not sure. I’d ask, and she made it clear often enough that she wasn’t directing it at me.
Kantax’s eyes worsened again, yet her hearing remained sharp as ever. Tried sneaking past or up to her several times, but the slight rustling of my clothes and creaking prostheses gave me away.
Am I really her daughter? Did I possess her daughter? Am I just her daughter with memories from another life? Did I take her first child away from her, and did my choices inadvertently force her to abandon Femicia too? I, I hope not.
I built her a small music box of the tune she used to lull me to sleep with. She had no memories of being lulled to sleep herself, and no memories of a comfortable home other than what we had together with Arsalan all those years ago. She tried her best with us both, and possibly with my half-sister Femicia too.
On the last day, Ostracia greeted me as she left Kantax’s room and met me on her way out. I had so many things to attend to, so I did my paperwork in the room where she wanted to be kept. I almost fell asleep trying to catch up with it all. Later that evening, she turned to the pitch-black window amidst the lantern-lit room.
“Was I a bad mother?” she asked, softly.
That was a question I dared not ask myself ever since I lost my family. There wouldn’t have been an answer I could’ve handled. I saw the despair in her worn, grayed out eyes. This was all too sudden, just a few weeks ago she was the fittest human centennial I knew. I have nobody to blame; I don’t think I can blame myself, not again.
“No. Don’t ask yourself that. You’ve been a wonderful mother, while you were able to be. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
I left my desk after weighing down the papers on it, and sat by her bed – gripping her left hand with my right. The scars of battles long past, timeless proof of her struggles. A tan line left on her ring finger had slightly faded over the decades, but the indent meant she’s only stopped wearing it recently. It was Arsalan’s ring, and not from Femicia’s father. I ran my hand across hers, and held them tenderly as I slowly began to drift asleep from my own exhaustion.
“Nah, that’s not for you to answer. And I don’t need to hear the same lies I’ve told myself all these years. But, thank you. I can’t remember much at the moment, but I do know I’m happy to be here. With you. All of you, here.”
I couldn’t decide on whether to grasp her hand or let it go.
“My dear, are you crying? I can’t see you clearly, but I can hear your staggered breathing over there. You don't have to hide it.”
I didn’t want to deny it, anything I’d say would come out with a cracked voice and I’d probably end up saying more than I’d like.
“It’s okay. Crying won’t heal me or solve anything. But if it helps you release, then don’t be afraid to do so. Eventually, even I will forget how to cry. Please, bury me beside Arsalan. We’re too far for me to rest beneath the graves of my brothers.”
Uncontrollable sobbing, and a few sniffles echoed in the small room. I tried to wipe all the tears away with the sleeve covering my prosthetic arm. She gave me a few headpats to calm me down, before resting her palm over mine once again. Hiding the truth has always been more exhausting than miles of paperwork. I felt that if I had to listen to her hum that lullaby one more time I’d just break. I've lost count of how many times she's said the same exact things.
And soon, I woke up, alone. Again.
Bladeweaver. The black swordstress; the crimson champion. Kantax Lunarka, my mother in this godforsaken world, has passed away after shedding one last tear in front of me.
Yet it never got easier, the funerals I mean.
Ouro and his grandson Orvilo attended, along with all of the sorrowful men and women amongst the Wardens – many of whom I realize are descendants of the loyal troops she brought with her during that first major siege of our redoubt. Dozens of Zillah’s cloaked succubi also made a solemn attendance, where they all used their own beaded bracelets for prayer. I appointed Ostracia as its acting head in the meantime, as her hardness-of-hearing improved with our new hearing aids.
Kantax rests beside Arsalan here.
Now, I’m 110, and both Anthrax and Nightingale have gone peacefully too. This hit Qistina the hardest, and it’s rare for someone so long-lived like an elf to be so distraught over this kind of thing.
On the surface, regular human beings are just like short-lived pets to her. But really, those two must’ve been some of the closest friends she’s ever had. At this point, they’ve spent far more hours with her than I have with all of them combined.
We went on a recording spree with Nightingale when Anthrax’s health began greatly declining. A small development team under Aspera and I built a recording studio for which we’ve made accurate PVC-based vinyl records. We’ve recorded their voices for posterity, and for my own sake. I regret not being able to record both Strelya’s and Kantax’s precious voices.
These analogue sound storage mediums will be preserved for ages to come. Nightingale’s melodies will echo through time for countless souls to discover and appreciate, like we were lucky to. And, it starts here at the Shoreside Inn where Qistina can listen to her friend’s music playing on the speakers and jam with her even when Nightingale’s long gone.
We recorded hundreds of songs, and she even showed me her concepts for a national anthem. Aspera was a drummer in her old life and she joined the jam sessions with Qistina and Nightingale. She shared new songs with them, and even gave me roles to beatbox in – a skill she thought was oddly interesting for someone like me.
I promised both Anthrax and Nightingale that when one goes, so will the other. The goal was so that she doesn’t have to see a world without him, but I couldn’t do it. Nightingale knew that, so she stuck around a little longer. She spent some time talking it out with Qistina, who wished more than anyone for them to stick around. Night hoped the records would do it until the next life.
“Hey, you too, Iso. Take care of yourself, okay? We’ve left you a present, for everything you’ve done for us. It’ll get to you when it does, so you better keep going.”
It isn’t fair for her to tell me that when she’s so close to the end of her journey. I still have to keep going, carrying that weight.
“Hey uh, Gale. You’re the last one left from the gang, and I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.”
“Oh my sweet friend, that first bit’s not true at all. It’s nice to see you be a little more honest. The tale of adventurers is far from over, it’ll just look different from now on. You’re as much of a Heartbreaker as any of us were.”
She thanked me for everything, and decided being late a few hours was agonizing enough. She rested her hand on his, and her graceful smile on Qistina and I. We’ve been taking trezotypes; pictures of everyone and everything the past few cycles, so that maybe one day Qist can regain her vision and see the faces of those she cared about. Kat stood by, and finished preparing his tools.
A gentle dose of chloroform, and lethal injection.
Two caskets. Two graves. Buried beside the Shoreside, whose walls are aged with moss on masonry and vines on veneer.
They rest under the large willow tree they had their afternoon breaks at. I can still see him resting his head over her lap as they take the Hirenian river breeze in, feeding each other Rokmuran fruits.
Drinks are on me, today. No shortage of guests ranging from esteemed veterans to local drunks, even members of Nightingale’s old wandering troupe managed to visit, most of which weren’t plainly human but definitely up there in age. The Anthrax Artillery Academy won’t resume classes until next week.
Farewell for now. May they enjoy the music.
Yeah, they’re “Heartbreakers” alright.
They sure are.
…
112. Redoubt’s motor manufactory wing.
“No, Tobias,” I said, as Isolus. “We’re not making that.”
“But it’s been my passion project since I got here!”
“I know. But why? It sounds so wack.” I replied.
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Tobina finally removed her palm from her face to confront her grandfather. “See, gramps? Told you it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Please!” said Tobias. “It will be perfect! Watch.”
As the old man and his granddaughter hurriedly swapped parts from two mopeds and put them into a hollow chassis to make a small car, my mind began to wander. What’ll the future be like for us? If I don’t get murdered, I’ll live long enough to see it. Will it be full of strife? Will there be an oil crisis? Will traffic be the biggest issue on the news every weekend? And if there’s going to be traffic, what’ll cause it? What cars will our roads have – big personal trucks like the kind Rumi has, or small cars like Tobias is proposing?
After about two minutes, he bolted the last piece on. Not bad.
Not bad at all. Controls seemed as seamless as our trucks’, which he studied deeply. The hollow chassis was light, and the seats were too. Some varnished wood here and there, with thin stamped steel parts. The transmission system he built synchronized the gearing and fuel intake for both of his modified motorcycle engines. Even if one engine broke, the vehicle could still kinda run. Fuel consumption is perfect. Easily fits a family of five, too.
“Basically,” he said, “this vehicle grows WITH your family!”
Interesting, considering he grew a pretty large family on his own. He really did get busy after leaving us the first time, huh?
“You can buy a single moped for cheap, fitting two at most. Then, you can get another one with this chassis when your family needs more capacity!” He pitched like an avid used car salesman.
Then, bells outside began ringing. An emergency call.
Orvilo bursted in the room, with Ostracia and Aspera.
“It’s Medina!” he said, catching his breath.
“What about it?”
“Riots. A whole lot of them. Something about the nobility hiding away the farmers’ subsidized equipment yesterday. We’re loading reinforcements right now on the next barge south.”
“How come we’re only hearing of this now?” I asked.
“Telegraph stations were damaged by a large gang operating in the area. We’re still investigating that, but at least the stations’ old lantern semaphore signals still worked despite the rainstorm south.”
“Shit. Okay, I’m going. Tobias, Tobina, tell Nora you have my approval but only if you also work on the new engines I’ve specified last season. Orvilo, go help Ostracia move the 7th brigade to follow up. Aspera, you’re with Rumi and me. Your research can wait.”
I boarded my armored car and Rumi drove it to the port and onto the barge carrying new rails down south to expand the network. It’s cheaper to send rail segments by barge than by train. This barge now carried half a dozen armored vehicles and hundreds of troops.
Lots of the internal security personnel aboard were excited for this assignment. Arzo’s redwing flew past us and dropped a message from the coastal lords, claiming that the common folk have breached all the estates and are spilling blood wherever they can.
Fuck. If the reports are right, then most of the agricultural aid we sent must be holed up at Medino’s grand palace. The tractors, fuel, and other implements are fine – but what about the fertilizer?
The books said we sent over 150 tons of ammonium nitrate in advance as Medina officials requested an order for investment in their agricultural sector. We offered lessons on agronomy across all of Pulvera, so we were happy to help with this expensive order.
It seems that they’ve hoarded our support instead of actually helping the farmers out unless they agreed with terrible terms. At least that’s what the helmsman told me, from the rumors.
All I could do now was wait, and I’ve grown to hate it.
Not sure when I got the habit of shaking my leg, waiting.
I can’t “wait faster” and this old barge has its limits.
Speaking to the others aboard and asking them how they’re doing helped get my mind off of things. I needed that.
“Thanks for checking in on us, ma’am! It’s exciting to finally get a chance at some action,” said one corporal, saluting me.
A Pulveran markswoman waved at me, sniper rifle in tow.
Several crewmen rushed up to me and shook my hand, two of them even asked for my autograph. I asked if they’ve been taking good care of their vehicles. They clacked their rubber boots together and saluted, roaring “YES MA’AM!” in unison.
Oddly enough, First Princess Shini was also aboard with her own personal escort. She was already working her way down to Medina before all this. We’re currently granting her asylum as the destabilization in Royaume forced her into hiding. She ‘agreed’ to help mediate between the commoners and nobility. As if.
The chief petty officer temporarily in charge of the barge was having a small dispute with the engineer responsible for the rails and the helmsman who normally captained the barge. Something along the lines of getting there too late to meet the rail delivery deadline.
I’m worried we’re going to get there too late to.. nevermind.
“Gentlemen!” I called. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Oh uh ma’am! Things are going smoothly.” the officer said.
“Actually,” both the engineer and helmsman said together.
“Look guys, don’t sweat it.” I said. “I heard everything, rest assured that we’ll handle and compensate for any delays. I’ll let chief secretary Nora know about extending whatever needs to be.
I shook all their hands.
“Chief petty officer Venceslao, could you go attend to the tank crews? Tanks 477 and 491 aren’t secured to the ship properly.”
“Right away, ma’am.” he said, marching off.
“Hey,” I called to the two, bowing. “I hope you’ll forgive us for the inconvenience. It’s an emergency. Hope you understand.”
They reassured me that it was totally fine, and that there’s not much anyone can do now other than wait.
“Wait a second, are you Isolus?” asked the bearded engineer.
“That’s her alright,” said the helmsman, steering the barge.
“Railway engineer Tobaldo, at your service. You’ve met my older sister Tobina, yeah? She’s always talking about you.”
“Of course, I was talking to her and your grandfather earlier.”
He shook my hand, and held it with both of his.
“I just wanted to say, thanks for helping her solve the rail joint bar problem. Thermite welding? Incredible stuff, and to think it wouldn’t have been possible without that newfangled Aluminum.”
“Well, thanks!” I said with a half-smile. “We realized we could save a lot of funds from doing that instead of bolting rails together with additional plates. She said you guys are doing a great job so far.”
“Really? Damn, she never says anything good about us.”
“I’ve personally inspected the works you guys do. Precise trims with those acetylene torches and no misaligned rails, while getting those welds grinded down by the dozens every night.”
He let out a boisterous, and proud laugh.
“Hah! Would do it in the day too, but we have to make sure they cool off at night to keep ‘em from cracking so soon, right?”
“Right. Keep doing your job well, and I’ll recommend a raise.”
I then spoke to the helmsman about whether he could drop us off at the first wharf. Droplets of rain started drizzling down onto the barge’s bridge windows. The wind whistled past us at greater speeds.
Amidst the dark, distant, rain clouds, I could see some smoke piling up. The city of Medina was in sight, and multiple large fires had spiraled out of control in spite of the storm.
Rumi walked up the wooden staircase bringing two cups of tea.
“They’re readying the tanks,” she said. “I think we have time.”
As soon as she stepped in, a flash of light popped behind her.
She turned around, as did most people on the ship, to look at the distant light which had instantly turned into a large ball of vapor, and a black mushroom cloud with orange highlights. Oh god.
“GET DOWN!” I yelled, sprinting for Rumi before throwing her against the floor with me. The steel cups she carried fell and spilled their contents.
Nobody said anything. Nobody else moved. I saw a glimpse of both Tobaldo and the helmsman gawking to the west, through the windows. I gripped Rumi tighter knowing what was about to..
The sound of indescribable ripping of steel and glass; a shockwave slammed right into the ship. Rumi screamed into my left ear as my right was bombarded with the rush of supersonic wind.
And so it was over – at least the start of it was. We were too late.
Shards of glass had ricocheted everywhere. Rumi’s raised hands were cut a few times from the annealed blades of glass that flew over us. The helmsman was slammed through the window to the east and fell out, leaving the ship steering right into the wharf.
Tobaldo was covered in glass, and riddled with lacerations. He was bleeding all over, and I could hear screams outside the room amidst the splashing of water and Rumi’s heavy whimpering.
I knelt over to Tobaldo to check his pulse, but his chest had taken a large shard of glass. He couldn’t open his bloody eyes. My voice was left stunned as he gripped my right sleeve. A pool of warm blood had drenched my knees, now mixing with the spilled tea. Soon, he let go of life, and my sleeve; leaving a bloody handprint.
He was gone. I had no time to cry, as the ship began grinding against the wharf. The barge listed several degrees as the sound of crumbling wood and ripping steel adorned the screams of those outside. I got up and fixed up the helm’s controls as quickly as I could.
As the ship slowed down to a halt, I saw several mangled bodies across the deck, and many more injured survivors. One tank, the 477 began slipping off the tilting deck and into the water. It quickly began to sank as other crewmen tried to reach for it. The muffled screams of those inside were snuffed as the tank quickly sank. The 477 was supposed to be the first to disembark, but not like this.
More crewmen and soldiers were crying, or limping. To where? I don’t know. One female uniform with a scoped rifle was jutting past the bottom of our armored car. Several of the hardy engineers and soldiers were lifting objects off of some of the unconscious. I looked over to Medina and saw its northern district in ruins. Many of the old wooden buildings had been ripped apart, and the grand palace itself was torn to shreds.
Princess Shini was wide-eyed, drenched, and shaking beside the 491 as two of her bodyguards were slammed against the tank and unconscious as well. She was reeled out of the water before the others who were thrown overboard were.
This was my fault. Shit! Wait, no, it was the nobles’ fault. Right.
All that ammonium nitrate detonated. The situation on the barge stabilized; we tended to most of the wounded. The markswoman under our armored car had a fractured leg and got treatment. Only one guy from the 477’s crew survived the sinking. Rumi’s hands were bandaged up but she was ready to drive us anywhere. We lashed the barge onto the damaged wharf and disembarked.
Ruins. The coasts were safe, but the more developed northern district was leveled. I’d only seen one explosion like that before, it was when one of our ammunition depots got struck. Normally we saw it happen to our enemies due to their complacency, but it was rare that it happened to us – it still happened to us and I saw it. That must’ve been at least a hundred tons of TNT’s worth considering the thousands of artillery shells we stored there. I drove trucks back and forth to deliver them sometimes. Medina’s blast was just like it.
We found no gangs. All personnel were immediately ordered to switch from peacekeeping to disaster response protocols.
Medina wasn’t equipped to deal with a mess like this.
No city is. Not even Pulvera. And that won’t do.
…
Hundreds of bodies recovered. Countless more injured.
Food and shelter was already in short supply, and this just made it so much worse. Ostracia’s convoy and Vemvane’s airships arrived a day later with supplies and more, but it still wasn’t enough. Rumi helped me write some of the letters to the hundreds of late service members’ families. At this point she knew more of them than I did. It was the first time I saw Tobias and Tobina in tears, as they lowered Tobaldo’s casket; bejeweled with a railway joint plate.
I couldn’t get him that raise. And the fact he got the opposite just makes it all so much worse. It never gets easier.
We conducted relief efforts and investigations. This happened too suddenly, and the primary witnesses were too close to the blast and didn’t make it. But we found some malicious evidence, as there were bits of oily marks in the surrounding area as well as inordinate amounts of soot. There’s also signs of a getaway attempt.
This incident was deliberate, and whoever planned it even knew that ammonium nitrate could detonate stronger when mixed with fuel oil, in this case biodiesel. Yet, I’m the only one who should know about that substance, ANFO.
After one small-scale test I did with it alone, I secretly kept the idea for future mining and mixed calcium to stabilize all AN fertilizers to decrease the chances of incidents like this. Damn.
I did my part, and it wasn’t enough. Far from it.
You try to solve food insecurity, and they turn your solution into a bomb. Incredible. When I get my hands on whoever did this, they’re going to wish they blew up with the rest of the victims.
Euryas, Ostracia, Nora, Pazono, Katczinski, and Solomon later convened with me and the rest of my cabinet. We allowed Aspera and Princess Shini to observe. Orvilo and his men stood guard. Today we’re discussing ways to implement Pulveran Authority amongst our peripheries, while enforcing heavy constitutional changes. I hope this’ll prevent another incident like that from happening again.
All police stations in Pulveran protectorates would now serve under the Wardens as constabularies under a new National Security Act. Dealing with elites was the easy path, and look at where it got us.
Now everything goes through the local police and government units. The new Land Reform Office and Trade Regulation Office were born under the Department of Trade and Industry to keep these nobles in check. I'd like to see them try bribing their way out of the law now that these networks of accountability are in place.
I’ll execute traitors to the state myself, if I must.
Maybe it’s about time we fixed our mistakes.