The night sky was cool, forgetting that it was summer as the breeze came like early autumn. The thin air flowed through the woodlands and rustled the high, flourishing canopy that was a deep green, a color barely visible. Above, the stars were bright, of reds and blues, like spots of magic dust in pitch. They were distant, but rolled across the sky as if each revolved around the earth. Not one speck of light was particularly luminous, not even the crescent moon who was usually bold and reveling, she was but a white strand that night, far and offered little. The shadows were weak and it was hard to differ between the shade and the dark. Life was still and quiet, and the noise which came from afar drowned by the sheltering forest sounded as if its source laid leagues away. Without the crackle of fire and the light it brought, it was ever more difficult to see but their eyes had adapted, relying on whatever reflections they could find that broke into the woods asleep that echoed the slightest sounds, the slightest movement twice louder. But they were somewhat at ease, believing whoever they were guarding against would not come as it had been for the past few nights.
Sitting on a log which was splintered on its ends, an archer held his head down, wiping down a bow with a ragged cloth as he had been doing so for half an hour. He gave the silver a shine that glowed brighter than the moon, but it was only out of boredom did he even care to clean his bow. Otherwise, if there was something to be done, except waiting for dawn to come, he would not have. Deprived of sleep, the boy did not utter a single word. Odd, even to himself, his behavior was delirious. His hands continued to work but his body slumped over every minute. Woken by the rustling of his own clothes, he would tip into a state of sleep again. In cycles, this would repeat. But unlike him, his comrade kept a watchful eye, somehow withstanding the hardship of being on sentry. With a rifle in his hand, the lancer was prone, maintaining good form as he occasionally looked back, noticing that his friend’s eyes were drooped. Stepping back and forth between wake and sleep, there was going to be an instance when the archer would simply give in to his body’s demands and doze off. It was strange to the lancer how a soldier whose rank exceeded his, whose experience far outmatched himself, could not bear just a few nights on guard duty. The simplest form of medicine had to be taken to keep his eyes awide.
“Károly,” Julien called with a voice between a whisper and volume. “Why do you fight?” Convinced that the work of a soldier was not his calling, he asked, meaning no harm.
Károly’s eyes widened, his hands paused over his bowstring. He turned towards Julien who kept ahead, his sight pinned on everything that he could see only a few paces out. And even so, he did as commanded and asked no questions even if his heart considered it pointless duty. From then, the archer realized, what he meant and why he asked. In comparison to his own fortitude, wavering at the thought of patience, Julien’s was hardly spoilt by an easy life.
Bearing an awkward smile that quickly faded, the corporal ran his hand through his hair. “You have me bust.” Károly admitted, adjusting himself on his seat to that of a more comfortable posture. “I’d be lying if I said it weren’t because of stories…” Unsettled, his knees pushed inward, clamping tight on his hands which fidgeted as he reasoned.
Unsure of what his comrade meant, Julien looked over his shoulder. But as he did, Károly avoided his glance, embarrassed from revealing his childish motives, that stirred the Danner’s curiosity even more.
With Julien in no rush to hear his answer, Károly knew he could not keep his reasons to himself any longer and shuffled forward. “Of how grandpa fought when he was my age.” He leaned ahead and told, his eyes turned to the ground. “I wanted to be like him.” It grew easier to say as he went on.
Having found Julien as attentive as any good friend would be, listening to his every word, Károly flustered. Restless, he lightly bounced his leg and anxiously squeezed his hands. His blood diverted to his head that filled his mind needing strength. He realized upon finding calm, for a while, trying to bring himself to lessen his panic, that the look of Julien was not one who judged but one who reassured. Then, settled, the archer lifted his head and braved to decide in that instance to interest his comrade’s question. But only because he trusted that Julien would not loosen his tongue about their conversation.
His body slacked and his grip loosened, sliding down from his bow. “I admit, I was never the soldiering type.” said Károly with a light-hearted chuckle. “I went on hunts, picked up a bow for fun, shot a few arrows at the range…” Knowing somehow that Julien would understand, he listed the little deeds common to blue-blooded boys.
The bow eventually slipped from his hands and fell, with the tip of its limb dug into the earth. He caught it before the new coat of polish could be soiled and settled his most prized companion against the log. Károly slumped down onto the ground, his back resting against the rough, unshaven bark, so Julien would not strain his neck whenever he turned back to face him. Without a weapon in his hand, there was feeling of nakedness and insecurity. Unsheathing a hunting knife from a holster on the rear of his belt, his blade rang as it slid out. The archer placed a finger on its tip and another on its pommel, holding the knife over his legs flat as he stared at the metalwork that was gifted to him on some unknown birthday. Its steel was almost pristine, untainted by the scents of what it was designed to plunder: blood. Its edges were unused and the hilt was engraved with some complicated words of a near-extinct language that no one expected Károly to understand.
Running his eyes along the length of the blade, he shook his head and remorsed. “I didn’t think that it’d come to this.” The child in him could not comprehend the reality that he had signed himself to compete in, yet he had fought for far longer than his comrade. “But I can’t just sit back and watch everything break apart from afar.”
His were familiar words that Julien was too ashamed of to admit that he understood him. He knew that alone, without the voice of another, he would have done less, perhaps worse, than Károly ever did. He would have hid himself away, hoping that the conflict’s conclusion would appear one day on the front page of the paper. Alas, his prayers did nothing, like most times, they tricked him into believing that peace existed if he simply burrowed his head in his pillows. There Julien was, combating the enemy of everyone he knew. But for what purpose, he did not know. Only that his soul was afraid of the cloud looming over him, pouring his fears over his head. Facing ahead, Julien continued his watch, but with distracting thoughts implanted in the back of his mind.
“Grandpa told me that I have a sister before I went on campaign.” Károly confessed his true drive, unexpectedly, wiping the dirt from his blade. “I don’t even remember what she looks like.” Stunned that he had forgotten, the archer closed his eyes to contain his tears.
Having found that it was futile dusting his blade, where a fresh coating of filth would land atop it in a second his hand halted, he learnt not to fight it. Withdrawing his knife into its sheathe, the boy picked up his bow again which he was most comfortable with and twirled it around as if they had been reunited in a dance. His sight noticeably improved as he realized, searching for scratches and markings that may have befallen his companion. The night approached the moment of twilight and the skies turned a dark pastel cyan. A gradient of light expanded outward from its domain and ushered in a chilling breeze as its following warmth chased the cold away.
Károly hugged his bow and gave his answer, a reason that came from his heart for whoever and whatever he cared, “Yet, when I fight, all I ever wish for is that she’s living her life without a worry.” On reopening the barrier to his sight, he was alleviated of the trouble of ever finding the ends of his fated calling.
Resting his face on the stock of his rifle, staring down its sight and the blackened steel barrel that was fixed ahead, Julien watched the darkness fade, abandoning vestiges of shadows of themselves. In the distance, he found a rim of light thickening on the horizon as day slowly trickled into life. His night’s watch was soon over and he sighed, reminded by a heavy feeling that burdened him. The lancer brought his hands away from his trigger and the forestock and stared at his palms, greased, wondering how it must be to fight for someone. He moved his mouth but no words were delivered, his mind steering away into blankness.
“What ‘bout you?” Károly suddenly returned, curious as to why Julien would ask. “Why do you fight?” The archer repeated.
Stumped, how Julien could not answer for himself, he peered through the canopy, to the skies. But the heavens were not yet awake to assist him and he had to think and speak for himself. If only it could be explained as easily as Károly had.
His eyes slowly drew down, from the leaves to the trunk of a tree before him, “I’m not sure…” Uncertain if it was true or not, Julien said anyways. “Maybe I was convinced that somehow, I could bring peace to this world.”
Tight in his arms, he squeezed his rifle. The words that he was meant to say had left an acidic taste on his tongue. But when he took a breath, his body relaxed as if a weight had been lifted off his back. Without a worry, certain that any chance of confrontation had gone with the enemy not mindless enough to dare an attack at first light, he reeled his rifle inward and raised himself from the ground. Dirt and leaves trickled from his chest as he brushed down his uniform, at least for himself to be presentable if his commander summoned him. The lancer came to a kneel and his rifle was held by his side, stood upright as his pillar, as he regained the memories of his mobility, his limbs slightly numb. The static feeling wore away when the warming yellowish glow emerged from the head of the sky yolk rising over the earth. It first caressed his face before meeting Károly’s.
“But the longer I fight, the more I realize,” Julien divulged, discovering somewhat of a revelation for himself. “It was impossible from the beginning.” His ears were sharp, noticing a noise behind him to where he turned around.
Drawing closer, the crunch of foliage startled Károly who spun around to the source of the unnatural rustling unlike bushes and leaves but that of fabric. The clinking of belts and buckles and bolts came from two soldiers who marched at haste, carefree of disturbing the peace. They flanked the lancer and the corporal, taking their positions as if they were replacing them. But unless they have forgotten the concept of time, the youth could not fathom as to why rotation had come earlier than expected. Then behind them, another appeared, a soldier of their age. However, with half-rested eyes and a morning expression of gloom, the boy did not seem to have fared any better than his comrades that night.
With a rifle slung over a shoulder and a sword holstered on his belt, he crossed a hand on his hip. “You two,” Arminius greeted, cold from his drowsiness. “It’s dawn.” Reminding them of the obvious, he implied a reason for why he said.
Károly and Julien looked at each other, and it took a while for their heads to warm and remember. Their replacements settled themselves and took up their posts, making their seats and opening tin boxes to their breakfast, scoffing down their meal before a nightmarish twelve hour shift. Something was telling that they had experienced such torture before, complaining not nor appearing at the very least bothered by their orders. The archer and the lancer rose, taking what little equipment they had and leapt over the log. Hurrying, they followed in Arminius’s steps, striding across the forest floor as he alternated between a jog and a brisk walk across the many treacherously exposed roots hidden beneath the vegetation. Their backs were turned against the light, brightening by the minute. The clouds were stagnant and thin, permeated by the awakening sun casting long shadows of the woods around them, like knives, they pointed in one direction. To where battle awaited and stayed bloodshed.6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzUd2fq4riq
