Kamu 1.

I love to feed the tortoises; grubby, grumpy little creatures that seem to carry the wisdom of the world in their wizened little heads. Somehow the way they placidly chew their daily meal makes it seem that they ponder the mysteries of the universe, and I like to sit with them and watch until all the food is away and they go back to sunning themselves. Aside from feeding the tortoises I must also close the shutters on the vineyard - though the vines reflect most of the sunlight, the grapes would surely melt if they were left in the light all the time. It bursts through the wooden lattice, the sun, leaving little golden checkers on the floor all down the long vine lined corridor. Then the shafts dwindle, one by one, as I slide the shutters over the lattice, finally leaving a dark corridor punctured by pinpricks of light. Someone once told me that they look like the stars.

He was an odd creature from a distant land – odd enough they stoned him down in the village more than two seasons back if I remember right.

I live on its barest outskirts, hardly distinguished from the surrounding forests or the wasteland to the west. Up on the hill I can see all of Taok laid out before me like one of those termite colonies you see in the plantations, though some might mistake it for a recent landslide. There are hovels piled on shanties and houses scattered in empty ground. The vineyards are built in the shade of the houses and from my vantage to the east, there is barely a speck of green.

The blemish, as much as you can have one in village like Taok, is the military occupation stuck in all of the little divots and back-alleys. I’m not sure if they meant to stay or if the terrain caused their Tet to call a face-saving camp. The problem here is that they have taken the opportunity to enforce a draft, not a thing we normally have to worry about on the shady side of the empire. Nevertheless, I find myself in a bit of a bind – despite separating myself from the general rabble of Taok the army already sent a runner to threaten all the people on the outskirts. She was very specific about what would happen should I try to run. Worse, I can’t really escape now if I try - my farm is my only living, and if I left it would surely be burned by some vindictive soldier.

Which is why I find myself trudging down the hill avoiding loose cobbles and thoughts of the future. There is simply no way of dodging enrolment in the army now – and not one person has ever returned to Taok after that. From what my father said I think troops from around here tend get minced in the front lines up north. My plan, I think, clambering over a fallen shrine, has to be to try and become an officer, however hard that is, before I reach the imperial borders and get fed to the hordes. I did take the time to pack - a bedroll, net, change of tunic, underwear, knife and assorted clay jugs of preserved food are stuffed into a sack covered with pots and pans, I even took father’s dusty traveling cloak from its hook by the door. The tortoises are free roaming now, the seeds collected in a little pot under the stairs and the vineyard shutters closed. I may never come back again I think, looking at the run-down little cottage - but I’d like to die farming in peace someday.

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The town square, normally squalidly busy, is the one place this column Tet has been able to assert imperial order. The guards are formed up in squares and the grubby inhabitants of Taok made to stand in ordered lines. As I join the back of one of those slightly ragged formations, the herald of the column starts to read a proclamation of debt to the Queen. He goes on about how gratefully we give up our lives for eternal light while soldiers walk down the lines pulling out those who are fit to fight. There aren’t many in the right condition here – a few seasons ago bandits took those of fighting age to go looting in the north, and many of the younger generation have gone to try their luck in Cork. Only about three people in my line are singled out and maybe only ten in the whole village, they stand either proud or terrified just off to the side of the main lines. One girl has barely seen ten seasons, and all are scrawny – the only ones that haven’t already escaped. A young soldier with a weak, unshaven chin moves me to the side as the herald finishes his proclamation and steps back into the wagon he was standing on. A whole caravan has accompanied this column, the first carriage is beautiful – ornate and tasteful, painted black and white. What catches all the eyes in the village though is the thing stepping out of it. Nearly swallowed in a snow-white dress that trails metres – almost to the ground – a fragile, doll-like figure seats herself on the front of the carriage. The seating is tiered there, like steps, so the dress flows down like water. Hands fold in front of her – tiny white spiders crawling out of cavernous sleeves, even her eyes and hair scarcely vary from the colourless pallet used to paint the rest of her portrait. She speaks however, in surprisingly carrying voice.

“I bless all those who stand before me, standing in the eternal light. I call them for service – to repay a debt rightfully owed – to Queen and country: brothers, sisters, Empire. By the power invested in me by the Dawn Queen, I induct you into her guard and the service of the house of Cork”

And with that little speech, began my military career.