Standing with the Dead

The camp lanterns burned one by one, brought to life by one of the soldiers. Their flames shook when the wind entered their small encampment. It played, tossing them back and forth, before completely smothering them.

By the time Ember left his tent, nearly all the flames had been murdered by the North's bitter wind, but he could still see them. Even if the world's light itself had been brought down into darkness, he still would have seen them. He knew them well. The shapes haunted him in his nightmares.

He came to a stop next to a drooping soldier. "How are they?" he asked, dropping his voice into a whisper, his neck bending down.

The soldier sighed and pointed at a lump. "They say that one's dying."

"Revolution?"

"Yes." The word was spoken in a sigh, though the woman's eyes told another story. They burned, Ember realized, like glorious fire. Maybe it was the color or maybe it was the hatred. Either way, he loved the woman. She had the spark. She would come a long way in the empire if she kept it.

Ember said nothing more and stood, a tall statue next to a broken one, his eyes roaming.

"It smells like death," the woman uttered in between clenched teeth. A corner of Ember's mouth quirked up in mild amusement. She was too young, too new if the sight of the deceased bothered her. The war had gone on for too long--it amassed the dead.

Silence trampled on, broken only by wails or the howling wind, the rest of the world was just as silent.

The woman stiffened as the wails trailed off, and watched, uneasily, as two men carried one of the bodies away. It was the one the woman had pointed out. They finally died.

Ember had seen enough. He straightened and turned away from the sight.

"Why?"

He turned to face the woman, still stooping, still watching.

"I said," the woman's eyes narrowed, "why? Why hurt the empire? We're strong, we're powerful, we know what's right, so why do it? Why destroy what's perfect?"

Ember smiled, a laugh forming in his throat, causing the woman to turn and stare, bewildered. "You just answered your own question," he said, arms held out at his sides. "The Empire's perfect and unlawful people fear our perfect society."

The woman's eyes lit with understanding. "The revolution is evil." She nodded to herself, her posture slowly pulling away from her hunched over position. Her eyes were shining again, the spark growing stronger, the fight returning.

His smile broke and his arms fell back to his sides. "Fight hard. Don't give them what they want after what they've done."

She nodded, face set in firm determination, hands clenched. "Yes, sir, I understand."

Ember and the unnamed soldier parted ways. He returning to his cold tent, she standing watch, her eyes growing bitter with each death.

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