"Death," Emma said.
"What?" Liron asked.
"That is what's waitin' for 'em."
The procession had arrived at Eisenrahm. Liron had finished with his shift right in time to see their arrival. He had barely washed, the smoky smell still clinging to him. Emma had insulted him a few times already for it. After getting no rise out of him, she stopped, mumbling some curses to herself.
Emma had made it in time, too. She worked at the local tannery. They focused on producing the leather for the shoes they wore. They didn't made them here, though. Some other town did this. Who, they didn't know. While the forge had its demand increased, the tannery had its lessened. The shoes were meant for normal people like them. With a fresh wave of soldiers, the population would shrink temporarily, meaning they required less leather for a time.
Emma was lucky in striking a job at the tannery. Secure, no stress, decent pay. Her lute play had strengthened her fingers, making them more nimble. Anything requiring her hands, she pulled off with ease. Their mother worked there too, training her daughter to make sure she would not embarrass her. Emma didn't appreciate the opportunity their mother had provided her, hating the job even before she had started there.
"Have you been listening to me?" Emma asked. She sat on top of a wooden fence, glaring at the procession.
"Fuck no," Liron said, grinning, leaning against the fence.
There they were. The head of every procession, its beating heart. The Warpriests, clad in armor and holy robes alike. Their golden hoods hid their faces. A sun held by Harras's hand adorned their chest plates. They wore a thick fur scarf around their necks, two longer white stripes of fabric hanging down in front of their shoulders, golden lines framing them. Their white cape depicted Casar ascending, burning sword in hand. Their surcoat remained empty, nothing but Harras's commands written into their corners. Emma had used to call their surcoats skirts or dresses despite knowing the difference, knowing it would have gotten a rise out of Liron. After adapting to it, though, she had stopped.
Two dozen soldiers surrounded the two Warpriests leading the procession, protecting them on their path. Cowards considered this the best duty as a soldier, away from the battlefield. Liron had gotten into a fight over this with a kid his age. The weasel had never said anything like this again after Liron smashed his nose in. To be fair, he had only sought an excuse to hit him, having heard the rumors he had spread about Liron.
Alongside the soldiers, the actual procession followed the Warpriests wherever they went. Men and women devoted to the worship of Harras and the Arist family, his direct descendants. They looked like beggars, having nothing but the dirty tatters they wore. They had entered a constant state of prayer, refusing to eat or drink except the bare minimum. A skeleton wrapped in skin had more flesh on its bones than them. How they endured the long marches through the harsh environment of Nordland, Liron didn't know. Proof that Harras rewarded the ones that worshipped him in full.
But they had yet to reach a higher level of worship. The proof for this appeared shortly after, walking into view. Liron remembered the first time seeing a Faithful. He had been a small child, shrieking. He had burrowed his sobbing face into their father's chest, begging him to make the monster go away. Their father had laughed at his reaction, patting his head. He had promised him that there was nothing wrong. He had been scared, too.
The four Faithful stood at least ten feet tall. Once human, their feverish dedication to Harras had transformed them. Similar to the devoted, they were painfully scrawny, not even muscles on their stretched frame. Their skin appeared burned, black as coal or as Liron's hair. Their spiderlike fingers wrapped around each other in effortless prayer, never ceasing.
Golden veils danced around them, moving with a mind of their own. The Faithful had lost their former heads, replaced by a glowing cup containing a liquid sunshine, or so the Warpriests claimed. A glow emitted from the Faithful's head, drenching everything around them in what once the sun provided.
Liron giggled, his fingers clawing into the fence. After seeing posters of Faithful fighting in Sannara, he had admired them. Emma didn't share his enthusiasm, grimacing as the silent giants strolled after the Warpriests.
"Eeew," Emma said, "they are uglier than I remembered."
"Emma, please," Liron said. "Show some respect."
"Respect? Those monsters should be in Sannara, where they can fight their kind. And don't get me started on the scripture lovers."
Liron raised an eyebrow. "What about the Warpriests?"
"Please, one is a beginner and the other an old fart. They can probably barely quote the scripture without stuttering."
"What makes you say this?"
"Please. Like the Empire would send someone worth a shit here to us. They'd be in Sannara to piss out blood and die. Those two have no real band. Do you think these soldiers would be enough to get through the forest? At night? No, they have who knows how many Sinners nearby. They keep their Fallen Choir out of sight so we don't question how righteous they are."
Emma said the last words in a mocking tone, clearly quoting. Liron opened his mouth, but he closed it, narrowing his eyes. Unfortunately, Emma wasn't wrong. Words alone wouldn't suffice to secure victory. She continued, tearing into the flawed nature of the Procession. While she did so, Liron moved his hand behind her, slow and cautious enough for her to notice. Once in position, his finger poked her hard into her side. She shrieked, nearly falling off the fence.
"You ass!" she hissed, rubbing her side. "I will kill you!"
"Please," Liron laughed. "I'm the only one that keeps you sane here. You need me."
"Well… yeah, but don't push your luck. Perhaps madness is better than puttin' up with your shit."
As Liron wanted to reply, he noticed a familiar face among the soldiers. "Dieter?" he called.
The man turned around, a smile splitting his face. "Liron?"
Liron jumped over the fence, embracing his old friend. "Dieter, what are you doing here?" Liron asked, sharing his friend's smile. "I thought you were headed for Sannara."
"Well, I was," Dieter said, "but they needed a few more men for a procession. Believe me, I hadn't planned to see your sorry ass in quite a while."
Dieter was one of Liron's only friends. They had bonded over their common enthusiasm for the army; meeting as they had wanted to see a new delivery of posters. Dieter had never given a damn about the belief of Liron's hair, treating him like anybody else. Furthermore, Dieter was one of the few boys of Liron's age who matched him in size and strength. They often had sparred against one another, always in good fun.
Being two years older, Dieter was allowed to join the Empire's military. On his sixteenth birthday, he had volunteered, like many boys did. Liron had sworn to him he would join him once he became of age. Something Emma was aware of, her glare digging into Liron's friend.
"Oh, Emma, good to see you," Dieter said, putting on his most charming smile.
"Dieter," Emma said, her tone cool. "You're still alive, I see."
"Plan on keeping' it that way."
Emma said nothing, her silence heavy. Liron cleared his throat, ending the awkward exchange. "Well, Dieter, how are you doing? How is the soldier's life?"
Dieter's easy smile returned to him. His friend wasn't someone who stayed in a sore mood for too long. "Oh, I can't complain. Haven't been in Sannara, but I got my pay either way."
"It's good?"
"Twice what I made in the forge. It's not just that. My family is allowed to buy lunar panels. In a few months, no more freezing around the chimney. We will be allowed to buy heaters. In a few years, we can move into the better parts of Eisenrahm. They even said I'd be allowed to learn to read."
Liron couldn't believe it. Only the highest-ranking people in Eisenrahm were taught how to read. A sign of true nobility.
Dieter pulled back his uniform, flexing his biceps. "And look at this," he said, grinning.
In the few months he was gone, his arm had grown, larger than Liron's by quite a margin. "How?" Liron asked, dumfounded.
"I wasn't in Sannara yet, but they train us with Battlebliss."
Liron's fingers twitched. "And? How is it? Is it better than the normal Bliss?"
"Much better. You can't believe how great it feels. It's like I'm invincible. My comrades and I, we move like we have one body. Liron, you have to…"
"Your band is mixed with boys from Sinar and Lorsos, right?" Emma asked, studying her nails. "How's this going? Any tension?"
For the first time, Dieter appeared angered, glaring at a few soldiers. "Bloody heretics. Can't believe they are allowed to be part of the Empire."
"This bad?" Liron asked.
"Yeah," Dieter nodded. "It's not just their Drom tongue they're speakin'. It's everything. The way they pray to Harras, how they walk and are around one another, even how they want to wear their uniform. It's all wrong.
"Shouldn't be surprised. It's their Sacred Houses. Urach and Lorraine are just…," Dieter struggled to phrase his thoughts for a moment. "They are not like the Lockrams, you know. Unlike them, the Lockrams are honor bound, aware of their duties."
"They said something about the Lockram family, right?" Emma asked.
Dieter grunted. "Yeah. Caused several fights. You know, for us being the barbarians, they act more like heretics. Sinarians cause more problems than anybody else. And here they want to tell us something about the Lockrams and their crimes."
As Dieter was retelling all this, Liron shot his sister a warning look. She acted as if she didn't notice, having moved on the nails on her other hand.
"Say, Dieter," Liron said, "how long will you stay?"
"A couple of days. Depends on how long the Warpriests need to look for the needs of the people here." Beyond the midnight mass, Warpriests stayed in each town they visited, taking care of the religious needs of the town. They offered advice on how to live more according to Harras's teaching, held public reading sessions of the holy scripture, or offered the opportunity to confess one's sins.
"But Liron," Dieter said, excitement creeping into his features, "you will be with the hunt later on, right?"
Emma raised her head, her expression not betraying her thoughts. "Well…" Liron said, rubbing his neck.
"You have to! I will be there, too. Come on. When will be the next opportunity to hunt down a pack of wolves? An Alchemist will join, too!"
"An Alchemist?"
Alchemists weren't known for their combat prowess. They focused on creating the technology the Empire required to fight the Qilesh and to make life bearable under the tyranny of the Silver Moon.
"I know what you're thinking. But this one is different, trust me. So, will I see you there?"
Liron's skin crawled under Emma's intense glare. "Sure," Liron said, ignoring it.
Dieter laughed, clapping Liron on his shoulder. "That's what I wanted to hear. We can talk then. I have to go back now, or they will chop my head off. See you."
Dieter jogged back to his band. They helped the town finish the preparation for the midnight mass. The procession had brought several objects of worship with them, all crafted out of gold and adorned in jewels. One of them would be worth a small fortune. The most popular were the holy cups, the symbol of Casar. Every person would be allowed to drink out of the cup after the midnight mass, like the founding fathers of the Sacred Houses did so long ago, receiving their gifts from Harras himself.
Liron looked after his friend, gathering whatever bravery he had, turning to his sister. She raised an eyebrow, walking back towards home. "Fuck," Liron said, running to catch up with his sister.
"Don't tell Mother," he said.
"What exactly?" Emma asked, her voice cool and distant. "That you want to join the hunt or the military?"
"Emma, please…"
Emma twisted around, pointing at her brother. "Don't come at me with this shit! I had hoped you had gotten your head outta your ass, but I was wrong!"
"Don't be like this. You've heard what Dieter said. If I join, you will all get a much better life."
"Yeah, that's how they get you to sign up, you moron! How often had we this conversation, huh? They offer all this, so you will not think twice. The only reason you could meet Dieter today is that he wasn't sent to Sannara yet. He is nothing more than dead meat to the Empire, which they will throw to the Qilesh to eat."
"Emma, this is…"
"You will not join, Liron! That's the end of this! You will not throw your life away for nothing. You are not the exception, Liron. None of all the boys who are stupid enough to say yes are meant to survive for too long. Most will die. And what did they accomplish? Nothing! For fuck's sake, this war is going on for what? 300 years? It will go on for 300 more with you dead or not."
Liron wanted to say something, but Emma didn't let him. "And what's with our parents? I know you don't believe it, but they want you to live. They didn't spend fourteen years raising you just for you to throw it all away!"
Liron ground his teeth, an old fury brewing inside his gut. "You wouldn't say this if I wanted to join the Resistance."
Emma let out a shocked laugh. "What? Where is this coming from?"
"I'm not a fool, sister. If I'd decide to fight for 'em, you'd support me."
All emotions drained from her face, replaced with a harsh stare. She stepped right in front of him, looking Liron right in the eyes. He thought he could take her on, but her intensity shredded through whatever defenses he had. He looked down, his cheeks reddening.
"I know you will never believe it," she said. "No matter how often I say it, because you don't want to believe it. Because you can't believe it. But yes, I also want you to live."
Without saying anything else, she turned around, leaving him behind.