A Sacrifice to be Remembered

In war there is darkness, sorrow and pain, but sometimes out of war comes love and beauty just the same

 

Gareth kept up a look of interest as he half-listened to the young soldier tell the story of meeting his wife. While his real interest, however, remained focused on the two people on the far side of the room. Less then ten minutes ago, General Tureen had been pulled away from the crowd by an on duty sentry to an unoccupied corner of the inn. Even from this distance, he could see the general’s impassive expression, a well-practiced look that was inscrutable to all but him, as the sentry spoke. No one understood Rorrick Tureen like he did. And at the moment, he knew that something was amiss.

 

He politely excused himself turning back to face the general, but he was gone. Under his breath, he cursed.

 

Twice now, he had tried to leave the crowded inn to seek the location of the general. But each time he tried to leave, the men refilled his tankard of ale and less than gracefully had him pulled back into the celebration. This time however, he politely but firmly refused any more drink and with an unyielding resolve he made his way outside. Behind him the drunken men jeered loudly following his departure. But Gareth just smiled to himself. He had no doubt that his absence would not be sorely missed for long.

 

Gareth was perhaps the only man in the entire camp who had not drunk himself into a stupor. But he could pass no judgment, for tonight was a time of celebration. For the first time since this damn war had begun the tide had turned in their favor. So when Captain Oran had received news that he was to be a father, there had been little argument from the general to allow the men a night of merriment.

 

It was now late, or perhaps early as it was already morning, and still the festivities had yet to end. He had originally meant only to humor the men by making a brief appearance of sorts, but what he had only thought would be a moment became the better part of the night. But he had not been alone. All the officers including both himself and the general had been unable to refuse joining the celebration.

 

He looked down at the half-filled tankard in his hand. He turned the vessel upside down and dumped the rest of the drink to the ground.

 

“You should not waste such good ale.”

 

Gareth turned to face the voice. Even in the darkness the pale colored hair glistened, catching the dim beams of moonlight.

 

“It is a most immoral offense given the times,” continued the man.

 

He smiled and knelt down to the ground taking a seat by the other. “Perhaps, but is it not true that man of such intellect as yourself, General, does not need nor warrant the hindrance of ale?” He asked smiling, but his eyes were full of sincerity.

 

The other laughed, but it lacked all humor. “Men such as myself, Lieutenant, are in demand of a refuge from time to time. I am no better a man than to deny myself such comforts.”

 

Gareth looked down to the ground. “It is my hope that you would find comfort in things other than drink.”

 

Finally the other man’s light blue eyes met his own dark gaze. In them he could see a deep sadness and a great weariness. But no sooner had the general’s eyes met Gareth’s than they fell away back into the darkness.

 

“You think I have lost myself in my cup then?”

 

It was then that Gareth knew he was no longer talking to the general, but to his companion and friend Rorrick. He shook his head in reply. “Drunk not in ale my friend, but in thoughts.” He continued quietly after a brief pause.

 

“Aye, perhaps.”

 

“What is it that troubles you, Rorrick?”

 

In the pale moonlight hr could see Rorrick slowly and unconsciously rubbing his right arm; a small habit he performed when he was uneasy. Almost a year ago he had been maimed by a rotblood, receiving a wound that under normal circumstances would have cost a man his arm and his life. Rorrick had lost some use of his hand, but he had been lucky. Very few men survived a bite from a rotblood.

 

“My sister’s husband is dead.” he said finally, his voice level and far too calm. “His company was massacred at Hind’s Grove.”

 

Gareth closed his eyes. “Survivors?”

 

“None, anything that was left of the men was burnt before they could be risen up.”

 

He felt his stomach clench painfully and bile rise in his throat. He had not been familiar with any of the men from that company, but he felt their loss as deeply as that of one of his own kin; in this war they all were brothers.

 

Rorrick drained his own tankard and threw it aside bitterly. “Nothing! This war had already taken him, warped him, and mutilated him beyond all recognition. And now even in death there is nothing left of him. Nothing; it is like he never existed at all.”

 

He stumbled to his feet. His body swayed slightly and Gareth rushed up to steady him but the other would have nothing of it. Angrily, he pushed Gareth away, a wild look in his eyes. His body was rigid and poised as if he were to pounce like a wild animal.

 

“Do you not see?” he hissed. “They will not stop until they have everything. They will take our humanity and only then will they take our lives.”

 

And then just like that the spark was gone. His eyes dimmed and his body went slack. He fell back down to the ground and hung his head in his hands. “Everything and nothing, it is all the same.” He whispered.

 

Stunned, he just stared back at Rorrick. He had known Rorrick for many years, but he had never seen this side of his friend before. Gareth was not sure he had even seen Rorrick drunk before. And now the man was laid bare before him and he did not know what to do. Rorrick had always been a pillar of strength, never faltering, never breaking. He knew better than to think of him as a living god like the other men did, but to see Rorrick in such a state rattled even him.

 

He sat back down beside his friend, but this time he faced him directly. With his gaze he forced the other to look upwards at him; he was the only man alive who could look into the general’s eyes directly. For a moment the two just stared at each other. No words were spoken, but somehow that was enough.

 

“Gareth, I must ask something of you,” Rorrick finally said, breaking the silence.

 

He nodded his head. “I would do anything you asked of me, my friend.”

 

For the first time that night Rorrick smiled. He turned to face the North, a distant look in his eyes. “You must swear to me that if I do not survive this war, you will not let them destroy what is left of me. Swear that you will take me home, to Aenyia.”

 

Gareth closed his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat. “I swear,” he said in a quiet voice. “I swear on the blood of my people that no matter the outcome of this war, you will return to your home, living or otherwise.”

 

Rorrick took his hand, holding it firm in his own. “Thank you.”

 

 

---

 

 

 

Gareth opened his eyes, letting the memory come to an end. It had been almost three years since that night, but he remembered it all too well.

 

His gaze turned to the sight in front of him. The White Mountains of Aenyia were even more beautiful than he had imagined. Majestic, white peaks towered upward, seeming to break through the sky itself. They sparkled and glittered in the sunlight like a rare and brilliant gem. There was no other place in the world like it. And he could not imagine any other place where a man like Rorrick could come from.

 

“Well, we are finally here, old friend,” he said. “Words do not give it justice, for it is even more beautiful that you had described.”

 

He closed his eyes and looked down at the small horse drawn cart to the flat and still form wrapped in white linen.

 

Gareth smiled at it sadly. “It had been my greatest wish that we could have stood here together, side by side.” He looked back out to the mountains. “But it was not to be.”

 

He could almost hear a distant voice that seemed to echo out through the peaks, “The war is over now, and we won, but not without a great cost”— the words of the new Emperor. “Rorrick Tureen gave his life for this land, and he shall never be forgotten.”

 

“Never forgotten, my friend,” he told the other. “They never were able to take you; no, never you.” He took the reins of the chestnut horse and led it down the path.

 

“You are a hero and a legend now.” His smile grew, nearly reaching his eyes. “And now at long last you are finally home.”

 

Fin

 

Author's Note

I wrote this over three years ago, but I've always had a soft spot for it so I thought I'd repost it.

Reviews

[Amaya Sullivan]

This was beautifully written. Is this part of a book or just one short story? I am glad your place this up for others to read. I really enjoyed it! You have a wonderful talent to write, so please do not stop!


Good luck. Keep writing!