Serial
85: The hit
March 21st, 33 S.D. 22:04 Henron, Central Plains
“So, you are certain they will need to go to Binfort before the capital?” Delri asked. She hovered over a table setup in a makeshift tent, examining a map. It was her first time seeing a detailed layout of Henron lands. For most Sventa, everything about Henron remained a mystery. Cities, geography, points of interest: all of that was unknown to her. She knew the border well enough, but her ignorance on everything else highlighted just how tribal the clans had become. Each side kept to themselves, never knowing anything about the other, except that they were enemies. Now, however, their world was changing, slowly.
“Sa. They have to,” Vitna said, looking up at Delri as he leaned on the table with both arms. “The serasword has to use a battery to actually start. We can be sure that Govan wants to have as many spares as possible, especially before he heads into battle. The serasword was developed in the labs there, so that is the likeliest supply.”
“Liveta has command over there. She will not give it up so easily,” Losha said. “Still, I think it is imperative that we stop them ourselves. If Govan gets more batteries, he is free to use the serasword as he pleases. Without them, eventually his weapon cannot work, sa? That is an advantage we need.” Losha breathed in deeply as she walked over to a crate and sat on it. Her hands felt a bit clammy as she wiped her brow. A short slightness of breath caused her to tilt to the side for a moment.
“Sa, but we will never make it there in time,” Vitna said. “At out top speed, our collective forces are only capable of reaching the capital in the late morning. That gives Govan several hours in advance. Capital City may already be his by then.”
“Not if WOLFWIND goes,” Losha said. She rubbed her stomach in circles, trying to ease the wave of nausea stirring within. “We are fast, nimble. We can get there before Govan himself.”
“She has a point, although I am reluctant to send our strongest players right away,” Delri murmured.
“There is no choice, Delri,” Losha replied. “We do not have the time. I know you two are counting on me to fight Govan directly. I will not let anything happen to me at Binfort.”
“You do not look so well, however,” Vitna noted, turning his head towards the serialist. She was panting now, holding her forehead in one palm as she fell forward a bit.
“I am... fine. Just got kind of sick after...”
“Go get some rest,” Delri ordered.
“I am alright,” Losha insisted, even as her vision temporarily swam. “We are just about to finish this war... I must stay and help with the planning...”
“That is also why you need to sleep,” Delri narrowed her eyes as she folded her arms. “I know how much you want to stop the fighting, but you will never be able to do that if you are in bad form tomorrow. You have helped more than enough with the tactical planning so far. You may be a serialist, but you are also human. Now go and rest. Vitna and I will see to the rest of the strategy. We will brief you in the morning.”
“Sa,” Losha conceded, rising up. She left to find her team. Vitna looked at her as she disappeared into the camp.
“Is she going to be alright?” he wondered. “Did she push herself too hard today?”
“No, it is not that,” Delri cast her eyes to the ground.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she got hit today...” was all Delri said, to which Vitna nodded after a moment.
Losha wandered among rows of tents, edging her way closer to a small stream. She pinpointed the seras frequencies of her teammates to a fire by the water’s bank. Rustling past a tall patch of prairie grass, she alerted the others of her coming.
“Hey, commander!” Yega said, turning around from his seat on a rock. Tami stooped by the embers, prodding them with a stick.
“Losha is back?” he questioned before tossing a glance over his shoulder. Faima didn’t seem to react; she kept smoking her cigarette. Losha stumbled, sweating, gulping for air. With an open mouth, she looked around as if in daze. Her gaze latched onto something as she scrambled past them.
“I need... some water,” she groaned.
“Hey, Losha. I have some right here!” Yega offered, holding up a canteen. Ignoring him, Losha rushed to the stream where she promptly collapsed on all fours. Coughing twice, she started to vomit, retching and gurgling all the while. “Oh. I see. You need water for that...” Yega said, slowly putting the canteen away. He and Tami looked on for a time but said nothing until Losha seemed to settle. Eventually, Tami came over, gently rubbing her back.
“You alright, commander?”
“S-sa...” Losha managed to whisper as she wiped her quivering jaw. “Just that... ah, that... today with that shrieking... Agh!” she suddenly growled. “Damn that doctor!”
“Is she confused or something?” Yega asked, coming to his feet.
“No, no, Yega,” Tami said. “This is just something every soldier goes through,” Tami looked back at Faima for a moment, then sighed as he went back to Losha. “Come on, Wolf. You could use a good bed.”
“Sa...”
Losha remembered being helped up, then set down somewhere on her back. Before she knew it, however, her mind slipped off into sleep.
Hours later, Losha began to stir. She said something unintelligible as she opened her eyes. The world before her was bright from the sun’s flare. Squinting, Losha all at once sat upright, fearing that she’d overslept for the mission. As she leaned forward, she tried to toss away her blanket. For some reason, she wasn’t under one; instead, a fine layer of dust covered her body. Frowning to herself, she scooped up a handful and watched it filter through her fingers.
Immediately, she stood, brushing off her limbs as she spun around. Under harsh light, she could see nothing but a barren landscape of sand and dirt. In the bleak distance, hills seemed to rise up, but her present location was flat and empty. Shading her forehead, she looked again in all directions. No one was around her, apparently. Where was WOLFWIND? Where were the rest of their comrades?
“Hello?” she called out, only to hear an echo. “Is anyone out there?” She should have recognized any nearby seras frequencies, however, she felt none save for her own. Losha bit her lip as she stared at the white skies.
“Where did I...?” the Wolf wondered aloud. “This makes no sense.” She shook her head at the ground for a moment. Looking back up, Losha spied something far away. To her, it seemed to be a figure of some sort. By her account, it certainly had not been there a moment ago. Blinking twice, Losha saw this thing multiply by itself; now there were two.
“What?” she mouthed, stepping closer that way. Curious, she started walking towards them. Amazingly, as Losha approached, the figures kept growing in number. By the time she was halfway upon them, there were several dozen. It were as if they rose from the dust itself, going from prone to a perfect 90 degree angle. She was only beginning to make out certain features of these things. Then, in an instant, she stopped. Were those people?
Thundering from beyond the hills, a great blast erupted in the background. A cloud, a sandstorm as wide as the horizon appeared. Tall and ominous, it ran upward for hundreds of meters before crashing down. Once on land, it rushed at her with blinding speed. The wall of sand blew past her right as she raised her arms up. Just like that, she was thrown into the heart of a raging tempest. It calmed down shortly thereafter, but only enough so she could move. Slogging ahead, Losha advanced without knowing where she intended to go. She couldn’t very well stay put, so she decided to find an exit somehow. Breaking through the whirling sand, a voice called to her. It was a cry, long and anguished, a howl filled with human pain.
“Daaaaaahaaahaaaaaa!” it wailed. The form of a man emerged. From the wind, a soldier shakily walked towards her at a halting, broken pace. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her at all as he passed by and cried again. This soldier was not alone, for more just like him turned up, each shouting into the air. Through her soul, she felt the presence of their grief, their sorrow... They all walked on, one after another, lamenting loudly.
Some grabbed their hair at the crown with both hands, pulling their forearms down and across their faces as they shuffled along, growling and gnashing their teeth. A few wobbled unevenly, raising an arm to the sun before they gave one final roar and collapsed on the spot. A handful, driven wild by fear, ran without heed. Their heads danced to and fro as if they spied danger all around them.
“No. No, no, nooo!”
“No!”
“Not this! Not now!”
And then there were those that just stood or crouched in place, sobbing and whimpering. Every time Losha passed one of these poor folks, the sounds of their weeping grew momentarily deafening to her ears, as if nothing else existed but their suffering.
“What is this?” Losha said to herself, clutching her hands close to her chest, as if afraid to touch this strange world. “W-where am I? What is going on?” Yet no one could answer her questions. Only a shiver raced down her body as more and more people came forth. Their agony piled upon itself, growing larger by the second. In time, they gathered into a chorus of so many baleful, tortured beings. More of their kind crept forward from the dust, a hoard that pushed and bumped against her. Trapped in their ranks, Losha felt her heart leap with panic.
“Get off me! Please, move!” she said, gritting her teeth as she tried to escape. Struggling, she managed to push her way through them. However, now she came upon a more disturbing seen. A grand pit sunk into the earth. Filling it were the bodies of thousands, naked, exposed, covered in filth and blood. They too screamed and bawled and moaned just like the rest. Flailing their arms about, they tried to grasp anything as their limbs and parts writhed uncontrollably. With trembling lips, Losha fell backwards at the edge of this hell-hole. She slid away, rapidly kicking and scooting herself to safety. Losha did not get far, for she hit something. Glancing up, she saw someone standing over her.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Nabel Viska said, staring ahead of her. “This is just the sort of thing I predicted.”
Losha gasped, but she remained otherwise paralyzed.
“A world of dust and bones and ashes. Filled with cries of loss. You hear that though? It’s not just from their mouths or their lungs. It’s from their souls that such despair and distress arises. This is the world of serialization, as I knew it would be.”
Suddenly, a hand lashed out from the pit and grabbed her ankle, pulling her in. Its grip proved unshakable; another came and seized her too. She clawed at the ground, but the sand beneath her provided no resistance. They dragged her over the rim as more and more hands snatched upon her. Dozens carried her deeper and deeper into the abyss, pinning her limbs all the while. She tried to yell, but they kept a steady palm over her mouth. They forced open her eyes, leaving her unable to shut away the horrors to come. She shuddered violently under these restraints as tears ran down her face. Their noise grew louder, blaring until it was the only thing in her head. At the center, at the bottom, hundreds raised their arms as if to embrace her, consume her. Closer and closer she came to their reach until everything went black.
“Yaaaaah!” Losha yelped, convulsing in several fits. Instantly she woke up; her eyes portrayed alarm. Wrenching herself up, she tore off her blankets. In the darkness, breathing frantically, Losha patted down her legs, her body. There were no hands. It had been a dream. She took a minute to calm down, assuring herself she was in the Central Plains sleeping outside with the rest of her team. The night was black, quiet, and still. Overhead, a dome of stars dotted the heavens. Losha shook her head as she ran her hands through her hair. Just a dream, for now at least.
Sighing, she stood up. She could sense Tami and Yega nearby, but Faima’s seras frequency was off to the side. Losha saw a dim speck of light in that direction, and even from here she could smell tobacco. Was she smoking yet again? Losha didn’t feel in any mood to go back to sleep. For whatever reason, she felt a powerful urge to talk to someone. She stepped over to Faima, poking her way through the thick grass. She made out Faima sitting on a log at the end of the bank.
“Hey...” Faima said; her voice was soft and scratchy.
“Hey. Mind if I have a seat too?”
Faima took a drag and blew out slowly. “Sa. Sure.”
Losha sat down, twirling her wrist and serializing a small orb of light. “Too bright?”
“No. It is fine.” They both remained silent for a time. The wind brushed over the plains, setting off a hush across the land. The water ran idly by, even and unhurried.
“Nice night, sa?” Losha said.
“No, not really...” Faima said, leaning over and tapping the ashes of her cigarette into the stream. Losha frowned. Something was wrong here.
“I guess not then...” she said, moving the orb up higher.
“It got to you too, sa?” Faima asked.
“Se? What do you mean?”
Faima gestured with a toss of her head back to the camp. “You had a nightmare. I can tell. I heard it.”
“Sa, that...” Losha trailed off. She rubbed the side of her neck as she looked up at the sky.
“It got to you, sa? All of those people who just died. Sa, I know that is what it is with you. All of those we lost.”
Losha took a deep breath, leaning back and throwing her legs out. “I fought through all of our battles. I have seen combat. I have seen war. Shrieks, Faima, people were killed right in front of me at Lake Lada. But when I saw that crater, when I realized how many people were simply erased... It shook me up, rattled me...”
“I know,” Faima said, flinging more ashes into the water. “It makes you sick.”
“I did not realize it. I must have been holding it back all day. But, the fear, the revulsion, it all came running up.”
“Losha, that stuff... It stays with you. It is a part of you now. War does that. It leaves all these dirty little stains on your person. This is something no one teaches you when you join up. No one teaches you how to deal with it. Does not matter if you are a serialist, a Prime Lead, or a grunt. Sooner or later, the scars of battle catch up. They often call it ‘the hit’, whenever it comes to you.”
“And have you had ‘the hit’? How do you handle it?”
“Have I been hit? Sa, having it right now. How do I handle it? Badly...” She gave a raspy laugh before taking in one final breath of smoke. Faima flicked the butt into the water where it hissed faintly. As soon as she exhaled, blowing a narrow, wispy jet from her mouth, her expression sank.
“You remember Lenol, sa?” Faima asked.
“That friend of yours, with the glasses?”
“Lenol is gone. There were not a lot of survivors, but none of them were her...”
“I am sorry, Faima...”
Faima closed her eyes for a bit, shaking her head. “You want to know something about me? I am a b*****d in every sense of the word. I was born even though my parents never committed themselves to each other. It must have been quite a scandal. My mother practically threw me into my father’s arms and left. I am a half-breed, you see. She was Asten; he was Gandian. I grew up in Varland for a while, but I never really felt I had a place there in Gandia. After he died - the poor guy drank himself away - I took what money he left me and came here.”
“I posed as a Gandian to get through all the clans. Shrieks, must have been fourteen or something. Came here, tried to find my mother. Never saw her of course, growing up I mean... He never kept pictures around. All I had was her name, her house-name. But they rejected me anyway. She was gone by then too, of course, living in the Central Plains and all. But they wanted nothing to do with me, like it was me that did something to her. Shrieks, that made me mad. Still mad... You guys see that...”
“So I forgot about them. I lived in Sventa ever since, by myself. Never adopted the Sventa name though. I am just Faima. I am no one but me. That is why I told you back then that I do not owe Sventa anything. They never did anything for me. The reason I joined up in the army was because of her, Lenol. We were the same, halflings with no one to turn to. She got... conscripted because her father’s house ‘volunteered’ her so one of their full-blooded members could sit at home safely. That s**t did not fly with me. I joined so I could protect her from a world that did not care, so she would not be alone.”
Faima tossed her head back, shutting her eyes tightly as her words began to crack. “But, it looks like I could not do that...” She sniffed deeply as she wiped her arm across her face.
“Faima... I had no idea.” Losha said, touching the woman’s shoulder. “If only I had been stronger, or gotten there earlier... Perhaps I could have-”
“Do not place any blame on yourself, Losha. You among anyone have done more than can be asked. If it were not for you, she would have died long ago. Me too. I... I joined WOLFWIND because I thought I could do more for her when I was with you. I would like to think I did. It was not your fault. Govan is the one who killed her. Never forget that, because I sure will not.” Faima rubbed her eyes, trying her best to blot out her tears.
“Thanks... for listening I mean,” Faima said with a sigh.
“I must say the same to you,” Losha smiled.
“You know, I never talked to anyone but Lenol about stuff like that. I know you get it. Like you keep saying, we are all Astens. Sventa, Henron, whatever. If we could all think and act like you, maybe my life could have been different.”
Losha looked at Faima then stood up, gazing straight at the stars. “It is not too late. That is the kind of land I want to build. No more stupid rivalries. I want the Central Plains to be a place where we are just people, not clans, not races, not anything but ourselves. I know it will not be easy, but throw serialization into the equation, and it can be possible. I really believe the art can change us for the better. Ending the war is just the start. Right now, it is only me, but everyone can handle this power, and when they do... we will not have to accept the way things are. You will see. We will be free to shape the course of our own lives, to bring peace to these plains.”
“Hmm... You know, given all that you have done, it seems hard for me not to believe you. Anyone else though, I would call them crazy.”
“You can watch it with your own eyes, Faima. Everything is going to change. It begins here, with us. After the next battle, that is where we will find our new world.”
“Sounds good,” Faima laughed. “Count me in.”
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing