Earth Chapter 6: Reality
Find the rest at https://tinyurl.com/EarthFisk
The gravel crunched. Earth stepped brisk up the path, pale blue moonlight still waning in the predawn overhead. He shivered. It would not be far. The sun should rise before he reached the camp. But there was one more thing to do.
For five minutes he stood alone. The stone beside the wall solemn company.
Lyf did not come.
“Forgotten One, will it,” Earth sighed.
The road meandered out of Elisa into fields the fell up and down on a gently rolling plain. But ahead lay war. Anticipation pulsed in his senses. It was a walking nightmare, a living dream. The King called. The rest, for the love of it all, now lay set behind.
In his pouch was some cheese, dried meat, and nuts. A pouch around his neck carried unmarked silvers. His heart held the memory, a fleet few moments beside the fire, the cherished laughter of sisters carrying on as on any other night, the cold eyes of love more concerned with the cleaning chores than the news of change.
The latch clicked shut behind them.
“Your destiny has called,” she said. She did not look up.
“It has,” Synu stepped in, touching Earth’s shoulder to pass him and move further into the room. The fire crackled. They set about unpacking. Synu filled kettle, set it to boil. But Earth was caught in some unspoken contest.
Then silence haunted him.
She was regal, busy at the cabinets with a rag, polishing the old wood with a usual temperate zeal.
Why was that so painful? Was this not what must be?
He forced a breath, let it go. Not as calm as he wished. She loved him. He knew she must. But these were iron claws between them now.
He stepped patched chair by the fire and sat.
“I am afraid,” he said, staring into the flame. “This morning the weight of the world was on me, and it vexed me to my soul because I did not know why. Now, news arrives as if prophesied, on my own Eve of Aging a call to the banner of the Shadowsun! Only now, I do not feel anything at all, except your frustration with me.”
“And therein is my hope,” she said over her shoulder.
“That doesn’t explain anything,” he snapped.
The sound of silverware clattered on the counter. A moment later, she stood over him. He did not look up at her. She touched his face, firm but gentle. His heart leapt as she pulled his eyes to hers.
“Do you wish to be afraid as other men?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Is not there strength in you now?”
“Yes.”
“Then do not let my frail heart stop you from what you know must be done.”
She knelt, settling her skirt about her knees, and continued with a somber tone. “Earth, at first I helped you without reason. When your sisters found me, my world was darkness. I’d lost more than I knew. Worse, I caused greater evil than most men dare even dream in their worst nights. In the years since, I’ve considered what I’ve done, studied the chain I unleashed. Worse things than my pride are at risk today!
“The age is dying, or is poisoned, or is taken ill. It is the time of change. But who can smell it? And what will those who have the scent be able to do? It is like a tear in the fabric which may either rip entirely and at once, or may knit be hemmed, but only if those who know take care to amend their ways at once.
“But what do such things mean? Can a boy of your age, even a man, see with enough sovereignty to remember what the times have forgotten? Or shall the world cower beneath the shadows, content to scavenge among slovenly nests?”
She smiled, a rare sight.
“Earth, I speak the riddles of a woman’s heart. Stop listening. Now, it is your time to go.”
She rose to kiss him once upon the forehead, and then walked away to prepare for bed. Silence settled over them again. Tea was served, and Talitha played her reed pipe. Analia never sat at all, but busied her hands with every conceivable alternative, as if by some attention to detail she could stave off the morning from coming. Synu sat by Earth, leaning against him until she drowsed, then quietly left to bed.
He did not see her again until, after the others retired, and he rose at last to lift his sack and leave, her voice came from the shadows within.
“I am many things, Earth. But I will choose to bear my sacrifice. I do not know what will become of you, or of this realm, mankind or the world. But I give you all that a mother can: her pride.”
The cools crisp of the predawn morning outside and the familiar clasp of the latch behind him do not slow the tears.
“Stop! Who goes there?”
The words echoed through the crisp morning air, emanating from a gargantuan, ancient tree that loomed twenty yards ahead. Emerging from the shadows was a vigilant guardsman, his figure silhouetted against the dappled light filtering through the canopy.
“I am Earth,” he called back, rising up to his full height.
“Enlisting?” The soldier's bow was taut, arrow notched as he scrutinized Earth head to toe.
“Yes.”
“Northeast, five hundred paces,” the guardsman gestured with a nod, “beyond that hill, you'll find the quartermaster's tent. Register with him.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, boy,” he grunted, already turning away to resume his hidden post. “This is no charity. We all go to die.”
“Next? Name?” The sergeant's gruff voice boomed as he barked out. Earth stepped forward, heart pounding with anticipation.
“Earth,” he said, steady.
“Of age?”
“Yes.”
“War skills and training?”
“None, sir,” he admitted.
He was curt. “There is no pay for the untrained. You fight for the lives of your loved ones. Food and basic outfitting will be supplied.”
He handed Earth a mark. “Go to the third and fourth stalls, then to the yellow penant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Next? Name? What? A woman? This is war. Go exercise your vote in the town council and...”
After acquiring a dented helm, a light-mail jerkin, some leather gloves, a heavy cloak, and a canteen, Earth made his way to the yellow pennant on the far side of the marshaling field, the sergeant's voice trailing off into a distant buzz. His two weapons were basic but serviceable - a short infantryman's gladius without a sheath and a decent dagger. Yet he couldn't help but notice that his cloak, woven from rugged black wool, was not nearly as impressive as those worn by the Shadowsun Guard.
The procession pushed him forward, one hundred or so men arriving with him. Each face he saw looked confused and alone. Most were strangers, though he caught a glimpse of someone resembling Barbus, the butcher, disappearing into the shuffle. Most of these men were not locals, but rather visitors drawn to the Festival, merchants and travelers, and perhaps even nobles.
A goldenrod pennant hung listless against the windless sky. Beyond it, the sun crept timid on the horizon, revealing the Shadowsun’s camp. The sheer number of men gathered here was staggering. In the midst of it all, their new captain rushed about, barking orders and manhandling them till they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in some semblance of a line.
“Stand straight! Be firm! Hold your weapon like so. Thrust, don’t slash, unless you want to maim yourself for a fool. If you die you die. The Forgotten knows your time. So at least die proud. Strength is in the arm beside you. You there! Don’t be a lazy hide! Scratching crotches is for a dog's snout. Let it itch. Look to your betters or you’ll feel the wrath. Feet planted now. Chin center. Talk when you sleep. Rest when you're dead. Listen up while you still have the chance. We march today, and there will be no picnic. This is war.”
The story of Earth continues…
