I watched as the grand city of spires shrank in the distance. To think I stood atop that city in one of the grand spires that the city is named for, to think those magnificent spires are actually home to the most deranged and awful people. My only hope for that city is that my mother gets well, returns home, and chooses to move on with her life.
I was in another prison transport wagon. This time, however, I was part of a larger force moving north. Few war slaves came from Vilta, so I still had the wagon to myself. The wagon trailed at the rear of a convoy of supplies that was heading to the front line. Mostly food, weapons and a few soldiers. They called it a logistics convoy, and they send them regularly now, even though our journey will take a week or two.
We travelled up the north road. The guards took note of my age and showed pity, allowing me to step out of the wagon and walk around to stretch my legs. They also let me warm myself by their fire before heading back into the wagon to sleep. I was grateful for that. Of course, I had the idea to run, but we were taking the Emperor's Road. It's straight, flat and mostly barren. If it ran, an archer could stop me with ease; there was nowhere to hide. I couldn't run if I wanted to.
As we travelled, Wrath was quiet. He normally was, so I didn't care. The guards tried to engage in small talk, but mostly I ignored their questions or gave a simple nod. They gave me some of their food when I did. I think that they think I'm afraid of being sent to war just because I'm fourteen. Truth is, I'm terrified, but right now, in this moment, I'm more afraid of them. What might one of them try to do to me? What if one of them is like that woman in the tower?
After some travel, we turned left, heading through the spine mountains and towards the narrow sea. The front lines. The entire western coastline was considered the front lines, even the fortresses close to Vilta, so why bother sending me all the way out here? Why the extra effort?
Another few days passed until we arrived. The guards called it Red Beach Outpost. A temporary army base that was nothing more than a sea of tents near the coast and a beach stained in blood. They said this is where the fighting has been the worst the past few months. How did I know the beach was stained with blood? Was it the name that gave it away, no, no it's something else. I can… smell it. Why can I smell the blood?
I was pulled off the wagon and dragged by my collar. They didn't bother restraining me. What could I do in the middle of an army base, surrounded by thousands of armed soldiers?
They tossed me into a large outdoor cell made of wood where other war slaves were. It was crowded but not cramped. Everyone was sitting on the floor, looking at the ground, most likely contemplating death. I joined them.
Sitting there in the mud, I had an urge to pray to the Saints. Though I had nothing to use as a totem, no sigil, no artefact, nothing. Nor did I know the language of prayer. Then I remembered, there was something I could use; it was hanging around my neck.
I reached into my shirt and grabbed the golden feather. I clasped it tight in my fist so nobody else could see it. I held it to my head. I wanted to pray, but I've never done so. I don't really participate in the worship of the Saints, though I would say I'm a follower; everyone would. So, what do I do? Ask them to save me? That won't work. Ask them to allow my spirit to walk the great white to find peace? I suppose, but I really just don't want to die.
Wrath? Can I pray to you? Can you save my life? Can you keep me from death? Just then, I felt a pain, a sharp, piercing headache. A word rang through my mind so loudly that it was the only thought that was there. Survive.
I suppose that means yes. I tucked the golden feather jewellery back into my shirt and looked around. Everyone was looking at me. Why? Why do they look worried about me? Of course, that's why. Because I'm a child. I guess even monsters can have hearts.
We sat in that cage all day and night, and we each got a single small loaf of deformed bread to eat, most likely the rejected batch. Most of the other slaves were weak and feeble. Just how long had they been in this cage? I overheard some talk about an assault that's happening soon. But when is soon?
When I awoke the next morning, it was to that of yelling.
"Debout les esclaves! Sortez." [Rise and shine, slaves! Come on out.]
I woke to a larger slave picking me up and lifting me to my feet as he walked past. Perhaps so, I didn't get beaten. I joined the crowd and marched out of the cage. We marched towards the ocean and towards rowboats that were waiting at a jetty. We marched across and all gathered into the boats, as a high-ranking soldier was yelling at us.
"Un soldat vous accompagnera. Si tu désobéis à ses ordres, tu seras tué. Vous devez naviguer jusqu'au Saltfort et le reprendre à l'ennemi." [A soldier will accompany you. If you disobey his orders, you will be killed. You must sail to the Saltfort and take it back from the enemy.]
I glanced at the commander as I walked past. He was young, maybe just older than I was by his height. Blonde with short hair and blue eyes, but his voice was young and high-pitched. This child might be around my age, and he was here sending war slaves to their deaths. He looked at me as I walked past. He took pity on me. It pissed me off.
Everyone took pity on me because of my age. We live in a time of war; people die in their thirties. By that logic, I'm almost middle-aged. I'm old enough to leave home, I'm old enough to join the army if I wanted to, and I'm old enough to do most things. So why was everyone treating me like I wasn't?
We loaded onto the boats and set sail. At the front of the boat was a man in uniform shouting at the two rowers, giving them commands, holding out his blade. If he weren't here, we could just row away and escape, but since he's here, he must know he sails to his death, right?
As we rowed, we could see our target; we could see it from the shore, actually. It was a small island, one with a fortress built on top of it. I guess the enemy captured it, and we're meant to take it back. More like we're meant to get them to deplete their ammunition so the real soldier can fight them. They're on an island after all, with no way to resupply. Why not starve them out? Unless they have a lot of food. Oh well, probably not much point in thinking about it. Even Wrath might have a hard time surviving this; I certainly don't see how it's possible.
As we got closer, a man sitting next to me started to cry. That spread, like an illness, and two others also began to cry. One of them was massive, muscular, and you would never expect someone like that to cry. The first one to cry stood up suddenly and leapt from the raft. Everyone watched as he tried to escape, but as we got closer to the island, the waves were strong and there were rocks everywhere. We watched him get caught in a wave and slammed against a rock. He stopped moving. If that didn't kill him, he would soon drown. Nobody else tried to escape.
Our boats reached the island with surprisingly no resistance. No arrows running from above, nobody has even seen the enemy yet. Either we had gotten very lucky, or this was a planned sneak attack. The rowboats sat against the rocky walls of the island. The slaves on the other side of the rowboat had to hold onto the rocks so the waves didn't batter the boat against them. We were ordered to climb, and we climbed out of the rowboat, all of us except the soldier. The soldier of each rowboat was sitting atop a small chest. Once we were out, he stood and lifted the chest; one slave managed to grab it while two others held onto him so he didn't fall, and with that, the soldier and rowboats departed.
The chests were opened, and in them were weapons, mostly swords and knives. Of course, they would only arm us now and not on the boat. Everyone grabbed a weapon, and some fought over the less dull and rusted ones. I stood back and watched them squabble over the weapons, content with getting whatever was left over. As the others dispersed, the chest was empty.
A man approached, large and muscular. He placed his hand on my shoulder and presented a knife to me. I recognised his grip; this was the man who helped me to stand earlier.
"Je m'appelle Barron. Je vous protégerai." [My name is Barron. I will protect you.]
I took the knife and nodded. I wasn't going to turn down his offer; he looked strong, like someone who knew how to fight.
Some of the slaves had two items from the chest. One weapon was a hook and a rope. After standing around in the wind and rain for a moment, they figured out they were meant to toss them up the wall, and we were to climb it, infiltrate the base and try to kill everyone in it. I thought about just waiting here, but what for? If one person climbed that wall, the enemy would eventually be alerted, and I would eventually be found and killed by arrows. At least over the wall, Wrath might be able to do something to help me survive this.
I was the last one to ascend the wall. By the time I climbed up, there was already the sound of fighting down below in the main castle courtyard. Barron helped me over the edge as I neared the top of the rope. It was then that I saw them for the first time, the enemy, the Metonyms. The race of people who shared half my blood. When I saw them, I thought maybe I could blend in with them, if I looked like them, kept quiet, maybe that could work.
It was then that I heard them shouting things I could not comprehend. A language I had never heard, that must be Nishigo. No, if I tried that, they would find out very fast that I couldn't understand them.
As I looked down into the courtyard, I watched as the Metonyms clashed with the war slaves. It was one-sided; the slaves were being slaughtered. The enemy wore dense, ornate armour that could block our dull rusty blades with their arms. Their slightly curved swords were sharp, and they often swung for the neck. I had never seen so much blood, so much death. I placed my hand over my mouth as I retched, vomiting into my hand, and I turned and looked away. I couldn't see that.
Behind me, I heard a blood-curdling yell. A soldier was rushing us, blade held high. Barron held his blade up to try and block the horizontal slash, but I saw the blade cleave right through his rusted sword and right through his neck. His severed head fell to the ground, landing on my foot. I screamed, falling backwards as the head rolled away and fell off the rampart. The headless body tipped back and landed on top of me, pinning me to the ground with its weight. I saw into Barron's neck, and blood poured out onto me.
The enemy that had killed him stepped forward, placed a foot on Barron's chest and held his blade up high, ready to bring it down upon me. But he hesitated when he looked at me. He saw a child, shivering, terrified, blood a vomit on his face, tears streaming down his cheek and a face that looked like his own. That was enough to make him hesitate for a moment. Then, he swung his blade down, and I raised my arm above my head. I felt the sharp stink of a cut in my arm and then…everything went black.
I was there again, that void of darkness. This time it wasn't as scary as before. I don't think anything could be as scary as what I just experienced. Is that what a Metnoym is meant to be, huh? No wonder everyone back home hated me. This was peaceful by comparison. As I sat in the dark, I noticed there were small flickering lights around me. They were tiny and hard to see, and when they lit up, the light was dull. How did I not notice these before? Maybe I was too confused. I stood up and tried to approach one of these lights. It didn't move, simply hovered there in place, flickering on occasionally. Looking closely, it looked like faint strings were coming from it, spreading in several directions. I reached out to touch the light and the strings, but my hand went through it, as if they weren't really there. I went to try my other hand, but it was gone; my whole left arm was gone.
Right, that man sliced at me and I went to block with my arm; he must have cut it off. So, why don't I seem to care? Normally, someone would panic, cry, yell, freak out, that sort of thing. This doesn't even hurt; it feels more like an inconvenience than anything else.
I sat down again in the dark and closed my eyes; maybe like last time, I could hear something. Like last time, I heard screaming.
In that place, it was hard to tell the time; how long had I been sitting here? A few minutes? A few hours? Maybe I'll just lie down and try to sleep; maybe that'll make time go faster. Maybe I'll wake up in the great white.
"Shinya, Shinya! Vous m'entendez?" [Shinya, Shinya! Can you hear me?]
Hmm? That voice, I've heard it before, recently as well.
"Il doit s'agir d'une erreur, il ne peut pas être un esclave de guerre. C'est notre ami de chez nous." [It must be a mistake; he can't be a war slave. He's our friend from home.]
That voice as well, I've heard it before. If only I could wake up. How long had it been now? Hours? Maybe more. The lights started to sparkle less and less lately. I wonder what they are?
I woke up, looking at the roof of a tent. The smell of mud and something cooking filled my nose. I sat up, rubbed my eyes with both hands. My hand? My left arm was fine, so what was that? A dream? I had been having strange dreams lately. As I rubbed my eyes, I noticed my face was clean. As the bedsheet fell away, I found I was unclothed, but even my body was clean. No blood, no mud, nothing. I was in a strange bed, in a strange place, wearing nothing but my underwear.
Wait. I reached and clasped my upper chest. It was gone, my golden feather necklace was gone. Of course, if I were undressed, someone would take it off. But the main question I had now was, how was I alive? What happened?
I sat up and pulled the bedsheets away as I was about to get up. But my left ankle was tied to the bedframe. Of course, I'm still a slave after all.
"You there, war slave. How is it you came into possession of this necklace?"
At the entrance of the tent, the young commander walked in, holding my necklace between his fingers.
"Furthermore, tell me how you managed to kill everyone in the Saltfort single-handedly?"