*BOOM*
The ancient stone roof shakes and crumbles. A huge chunk of stone falls behind us.“You gotta be Codding me! Dossers and chancer tools the lot of them, no way it‘s last light already; we need to Leg It!” Galan cries.
*CRACK*
The floor I once thought solid begins to break and shift.*BOOM*
I grab the gold chained woman’s hand and run, I need not drag her as she still possesses surprising strength, despite everything. One of my comrades rests on another’s shoulders alongside an Imperial researcher, blood now staining their rescuer’s carefully patinated cuirass.*BOOM*
Already broken sections of tunnel collapse back in, blocking paths. We worm through the dust choked tunnels, their lights often exhausted by falling debris.*BOOM*
The floor below me is no more. I watch my comrades turn back to look at me. Galan tries to grab me but the falling debris strikes his hand and collapses the passage as I fall. The hand of the gold chained woman slips from mine as darkness and rubble consume me.*THUD*
I try to move, even if just my arm, I can't. I feel hot and sticky blood on my back, my hands, my face, my eyes, even my mouth. It all is inundated with the taste and smell of iron, … just iron. I…I just start to laugh. Angel have mercy and give me rest before I go to the Crucible.
In defiance of fate, foe, reason I begin to hum and sing even as a numbing chill begins to crawl along my body.
“Ah Hum hum hum a … hum a hum…” My voice is slowly dying and cracking as my breath grows shallower and shallower with each note I sputter out.
“We are all Areinae’s company of the free
- Heya ho ho-
to slay tyrants is our greatest wish
- Heya ho ...”
“...Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster crows from the palace roof”
The smell of burning wood mixes with a night air of song, cooking lard, and honey ale.
“Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster crows from the palace roof”
The Artillerists start to filter in as the final screeches and roars of the day’s bombardment rings out.
“When our kin was shaped from the mud and clay.
Angel we ask.
When they made their first homes, where was the aristocrat then?!
Angel we ask.”
I rinse my hands of blood - Carata, the cook, having taken the meat of the butchered stag next to me off to the pot. Looking upon its severed head old memories flow over me, bringing a bittersweet smile to my face as I chuckle and join in with the singing.
“Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster crows from the palace roof.
Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster crows from the palace roof”
I put back on my faded green buffcoat - the deer’s blood on the still exposed sleeves of the shirt having blended in with its crimson hue - then sling my musket over my shoulder as the Carata adds the meat to the long suffering stew that has been our breakfast, lunch, and soon to be dinner.
“And should we come home staggered in defeat
-Heya-Ho Ho-
we know our children rekindle the fight
-Heya-Ho Ho-
Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster crows from the palace roof
Guns forward, march on, ‘till the rooster RETAKES THE SUN!”
My breath still filled with song, I sat down on a log bench near the fire with fellow soldiers I had come to know. As I do, Galan hands me a tin tankard.
“This Spiced Mead, you jaded codger!? Didn’t think we get anything besides cheap beer and watered down wine out here.” I crowed out before gulping down the saccharine and biting drink.
Galan with his … fatherly face just smirks. “Seeing as you’re jumping into the lion’s mouth tomorrow I thought you deserved it - more than those bourgeois officers of ours at least. Just don’t over do it wee lass.”
“Galan, I'm 20 years old. I'm hardly a wee one.”
“Cacamas! Atalanta, I was there four years ago when you came into the recruiter’s office looking like some type of wild woman and demanded to join the army; your papers may say 20 but we both know that’s a load of pig’s feed.”
He looked at me disapprovingly, knowing I couldn’t dispute him.
Acco then interrupted. “No need to be scarlet Atal, and go Galan houl yer whisht and get your box. I want to do that song we heard at the last pub!”
Galan got up and headed to the tent. I turned back to Acco and joked, “Of course I’m scarlet! What self respecting prole would I be if I didn’t fly the Red.”
The others laughed but our cook Carata slammed her spoon on the pot.
“Oi! No politics at camp. I remember what happened last time.”
“Not my fault Acco eats with silver and glass” I scoffed.
Acco puffed up “First off glass is not really that expensive these days, and I use pewter not silver. Also you're the one that eat the head off about buying the cheap pewter.”
“I keep telling you lead is poisonous, you dope. That's what they make the cheap stuff out of.”
“Get up outta that lass, I’ve eaten off cheap pewter my whole life and am just fine” interjected Carata
I grip my knee and hold my tongue. It's not worth getting into this tonight.
Acco started again. “Well, it is grand you care about us so much but it doesn't change the fact that not all of us are red waving wild wagons like you.” Acco sits up straight and brushes his uniform. “I would have been a real bourgeois myself by now if it had not been for the Tyrant trying to turn all of us hard working commoners into Helots.”
“Here we go again,” retorted a short, olive skinned man lifting an amfora of sweet wine to his lips
“Ah, here! Shut it Nothos, you mouldy sap.” Acco cleared his throat. “Anyway here's the yoke, there was this printing workshop, real class place that just fallen on bad times, so being the cute hoor that I am…”
We all groaned.
“BEING THE CUTE HOOR THAT I AM, I snatched it up for cheap. Here is the craic part; I wasn’t going to make papers or boring old books, nah instead I had an alchemist mate of mine create this custom print block-plate that could take the form of whatever drawing you put in it. Sure the ink ruined the block after a few days of printing but it was worth it”.
“So your plan was to make art books or something?” Acco was a gombeen but I did always find the idea of that block-plate interesting, maybe living clay, copper, and fae pearl?
“Not art books, picture novels. Lot of dopes can still barely read, by telling the story with mostly pictures you open up a whole new market” he spread his hands out wide.
“Not the worst idea I’ve heard from you, I’d give it a shot” I shrugged.
“Well then you all know what happens next, Prince dies, Dowager is overthrown, and the Tyrant makes life a living nightmare for anyone that's not a noble.”
We all grunt and sigh in agreement.
“Safe to say I lost the shop and with it any money I had, so I've decided to loot back what they stole from me, and – Angel be willing – I going to be part of the group that takes the Palace so I can load up as much treasure as I can then ride off into the sunset.” He waves outstretched arm across while the fire glints in his eyes
“*Huk* Well assuuuming you don’t get hung for desertion. *ha* What do you plan to do after that?” Nothos stumbled out in a sing-song manner.
“Head to one of those sunny islands off White Cliffs and live in luxury of course!” A massive shit eating grin on his face.
Another wave of laughter rolled through the group as Galan returned with his accordion.
Nothos spoke up. “Wellll if we are all singing our songs here. I joined up to protect the Freedom of my beloved Polis, Eosene. Nothing against the whole anti-noble and Galican revival thing but it's not why I’m Here.”
“I just think them Herb siblings – Angel be with poor Icron – had some good ideas for the future. Especially for us womenfolk. Not to mention that Areinae is a deadly lass! Few moments of listening to her and you feel like you could take on the whole Imperial Army!” Carata interjected with a howl.
I smiled a bit at that last part before turning back to Acco.
“So you're not going to try to do that idea of yours?”
A surprisingly sorrowful expression came over him “Nah, I'm tired lass, I get you likely don’t feel like it with the trouble you have suffered, but you're still young -- especially to this fight. I didn’t join up for ‘Liberty, Equality, Community’, I joined for ‘Bread, Lead, and Gold’. Anyway, that friend of mine lost her head. Not even to Imperials - victim of the Terror. She was the 3rd child of some Knightley fief or something.”
“You know just because I am a Red doesn’t mean … the Savateist and all … I’m not like that.” I hate this.
“We know wee lass,” Galan Interjects.
“I, we know but enough talking about the rain; Guess what, you bear lass?” Acco said with a worrying smirk. “Looks like they have started penning songs about you.”
Oh no.
Galan starts playing his accordion and soon the others begin slapping their knees in time.
“Let’sss Sing of the Green-Eyed Demon, the nobles’ bane, despite being a just a maiden her neck is weighed down with bloody rings”
My hand became one with my face, as they only grew more enthusiastic.
“Long live the Green-Eyed Demon, true to her name, a bear ripping through the battlefield without fear or pain”
I’d drink less if that was true.
“Beware the Green-Eyed Demon, with sharp druah eyes, the last thing her enemies see is her glowing green glare
Drink to the Green-Eyed Demon, should she come around, I’d offer her some sausage but I think she prefers nectar instead”
I really do become scarlet at that. I was used to pub innuendos but it hits a bit different when it's about You.
“All hail the Green-Eyed Demon, a true revolutionary if there ever was one, let's join her in her cry for Freedom and for Blood!”
Carata began dishing stew, now with meat of the very deer I had helped hunt and butcher, the red of blood still staining her fingers and mine. The distant smell of chemicals, sulfur, and iron fill my nostrils before I snap back to reality.
“Well, what you think, wee bear?” jokes Acco.
“I’m thinking if I find out one of y’all scratched up that tune I’m getting my blackthorn and switching the lot of you.” I bark, shaking my fist at him while a smile rolled up my cheeks.
My comrades roared in laughter as Carata suppressed a howl of her own.
“Harlara Atla, you will need that energy for tomorrow.” Nothos lifted the amfora back to his lips.
“Aye Nothos, you White Cliff dosser, but not all us can lay around eating olives and wine for donkey’s years looking like some type of aristocrat.”
“Just because I enjoy the fruit of my people doesn't mean I don't have more salt in my skin than you have dirt in your scars, so don’t go threatening my life filia.” he joked back but in scarily sober voice
“I didn’t, I would never … Well, fair play, that was brutal of me.” I gulp down my mead in hope it does the same to my shame.
“Well my filia, don’t drown yourself in a teaspoon of water, but just because I’m Helin does not make me the same as them.” he then swigs the last of his wine, nearly passing out.
Feck me, I was just slagging but I ended up being a sap there.
Carata banged her spoon against the pot. “Oi, both of you stop being a pox on our dinner, and Galan what did you mean ‘jumping into the lion’s mouth’ earlier?”
Our three Billets of 7th Kern Section were provided each with a large, framed tent. At ten men each they were hardly spacious, but curtains and raised cots made it bearable. Stripped down to my undertunic, jumps, and bloomers -- all I wanted was to get some sleep. Sadly – even with the honey of mead still coating my throat -- a pain like burning obsidian rippled across my back. A pain I had come to know all too well over the last six years.
I pulled a bottle of self-mixed lotus wine from my pack and shot down a cup. Galan would be pecking at me like a mother hen if he knew, but I need the relief and I want to save my smoke leaf for the field.
Numbness takes my body, bringing relief and frustration in equal measure. Putting the bottle back in my pack, my hand grasps a small padded satchel, worn and faded from use. As the cord is undone a small embellished silver mirror slips into my hands. The heads of the stags on the frame have been crudely defaced as was the crest at the bottom. Knife carved onto the looking-glass itself are two short phrases - one at the top, the other at the bottom - both framing the face of the user.
“You’re Not a Doll - You Are Free”
I stare at the words for only a moment -- rumbling my necklace as I read those words I've read many times before -- and move on to my eyes and hair. Alchemic contamination had turned my once brown hair fully red and ginger, but that was normal. My hair had been changing since childhood. What was concerning was the streaks of red and white clouding over my green Druah eyes.
Well that's just Grand - normally contamination would not show on Druah eyes, but I guess I’m fecked. I can’t afford to be dulled but mixing lay stimulants with my pain killers would be like jumping into the Inferno naked.
I unstrap a heavy box from the bottom of my pack’s frame and opened it up to reveal my pieced together alchemy kit. I pull out a lidded cup made from pressed wood and wax-lacquer. Looks like I only have five left. I pop off the lid and create a foundational solution of water, salt, and starch sugar, mixing as I pour. I pull out a brass-silver jar, a small silver spoon, and a darkened glass vial.
“Howsagoin, Galan would be fuming if he saw you mixing that stuff.” Carata peeked her head through the curtain.
I will never understand how she is the one that can alway sneak up on me.
“I know what I’m doing Carata.”
“G’way, is that so? Then you also aren’t such a scut as to try making that lash out that stuff inside the tent." She looked at me sternly in a way that gave me bittersweet nostalgia.
I put what I had already mixed and the other ingredients back in the case and closed it up.
“So I know you're not in bits, so what brings you around?” I questioned annoyed.
“I saw your back was giving you trouble when we were cleaning that stag and I’m your only woman for that.” She sat down next to me with a small box.
“I got better ointment in the bag, white lacquerware tin with the ‘healing hand’ on the lid” I sighed.
She grabs the tin as I turn away and undo my jumps and take off my undertunic, holding the tunic to my chest.
“Stall the ball, Are you codding me Lass? What is with this jumps, you have modified it so much it's more armor than undergarment. Why it must be at least 5 mina” Carata scolded as she took my jumps.
“About 2.5 kilos, you really should learn the new scientific measurement Carata, the Republic is already phasing out the old imperial system.” I try to deflect.
“Ah, here Atalanta - that was not my point and you know it. - *sigh* - Sure look - you will be you - let's just do this” Carata’s exacerbated voice gives way to the cold feel of the ointment.
Even without looking at her I feel her gaze turn to one of pity.
“Lass, Atal. I know you don’t like to talk about it…” There is the sad-sweet voice I was dreading.
“Cat Please…” I trail off in a low voice.
“I know, but… The old scars on your belly and wrist are things I’ve seen before - the ‘high and mighty’ folks’ idea of disciplining commoners. However this… stuff… on your back and… this is alchemy, isn’t it? I doubt you did it to yourself.” I wish Cat would not prod at this.
“I told you it was the Marquis that did this.” It won’t work
“But you never…”
“Apologies to you and the Caporal, Miss Carata, but these curtains are not that thick and I do not want to know ma’am Ceol’s story.” A man with bluish white eyes and dark blond hair interrupts, pulling back the curtain between our cots.
“I get what you mean but don’t be a crabbit, Helori. We are all pure done in, the Coporal especially given she had to poach us the meat for tonight. So we all know you disapprove of the Caporal but give Ma’am and the Fourrier some respect. Anyway here, got you a tassie of berries and cream.” A northern girl with natural dark ginger hair and a soft voice joined in on the increasing awkward conversation.
“Thank, *sigh* Thank you Grizel” The two closed up the curtains leaving me completely scarlet
“Feck. Sorry, I mean. Was a bit of an Eejit. Are you….” I lose focus on Carata’s word
My nostrils fill once more with the familiar distant smell of chemicals, sulfur, and iron and the feeling of cold stone. Blood and fire, euphoria and nausea, mania and fear. Feelings of pride, spite and shame fight within my head. This wasn’t about Helori’s disrespect or Carata proding, I didn’t really care anymore, but they had picked the scabs of deeper wounds.
“...lass? You hearing me?” as her words came back into focus I saw Carata’s worried look.
“Just finish putting on the ointment, going to be a dark morrow.”
Morning came, though to call it morning was a stretch as the only sign of the sun was the glowing of clouds. We normally would not rally ‘till the mountains turned purple, though Galan was always up – shepherd boy that he is.
“Well, Morn’ Galan. We getting real breakfast or is Carata making us lash down the eternal stew” I yawned out as I secured my buffcoat and put on my caubeen - straightening the republic cockade and rooster feather.
“Morn’ to you too, lass.” Carata struck the back of my head with the stick of her great spoon.
“And nah Atal, we need to leave before the sun shows its face and Capitaine needs to brief us and issue gear.” Galan handed me a mug of coffee with a bit of ammunition bread soaking inside.
“And yes I mixed in honey you bee bothering bear.” he chuckled out.
“The Capitiaine himself? Not the Adjudant Aculia or Lieutenant Crixus? That is unusual.” I ask as I dip the dense bread in and out of the coffee.
“Ahhh… Yep, it seems this mission is important.” groawns out Nothos his personal cuirass and heavy Helin style helmet still in his arms.
“In the heep are you? You mullered excuse for a galloglas.”
“Excuse for a what? Ooo right that's the main army’s term for a hoplite isn’t it.”
“If you mean you’re part of our vanguard, then yes. You remember how to do your job you hallion?”
“Yes Yes, Filia. Is it just our Billet that is going Galan?”
“Sounds like it might not even be the whole Billet, just us.”
“Sorry? C’mere to me they typically deploy us no smaller than the Section, even our Green-Eyed Demon’s skirmish activities is normally more her taking a dander and legging it back before the higher ups start to care.” Acco interjected before gulping down the hot coffee.
“Well, we should stop acting the maggot and report for duty” I secure my broadsword, targe, and belt including my biodag, pouches, and field kit.
The morning mist was so thick it was basically fog, the cool air actually felt good. The only others up are night watchman, pioneers, or camp aids like Carata. Well that was completely true. As we passed the medical tents we could see healers and aids moved in and out caring for patients, some even laying outside. I went to grab my necklace, but instead changed to grab the hilt of my sword, and pat my bag.
Looking up, the red and green of the Republic flag waved over the long command tech, the Galican Rooster displayed in a diving attack with one leg holding a olive branch and the other with its talons outstretched. I took a deep breath – me and the Capitaine had never gotten along. He was a bit bourgeois and I a bit… erratic. Angel only knows how I became a Caporal even with my kills and I got the feeling the Capitaine agreed.
“Heart at the Ready, Capitaine!” we all saluted as we entered, hand over heart.
“Hearts at Rest, Soldiers.” The Capitaine replied.
He at first seemed to be his normal stuck-up but stoic self, but even I noted the bloodshot darting eyes and fidgeting ink-stained fingers. Maps and letters lay scattered on the desk, barely organized, and crates stamped with the Great Arsenal of Volcae’s seal lay pried open and scattered around. One sketch nearly stopped my heart. A monster, no, a person, carved with different but all too familiar symbols and chemical scars. I show nothing but nerves burn, bone itch, and skin stiffens while the smell of iron and sulfur salt invades my nose. I hear the Capitaine words but they are meaningless to me like those of a language you don’t understand. My body moves but that sketch is all my mind can focus on, my motions and responses like that of an automaton. Galan salutes and I follow suit and leave with him.
“...You're quiet…” the feelings started to fade.
“...Atla lass?” I think it's Acco.
A hand is on my shoulder, and reality is real once more “Stall the Ball. Wee lass? You always giving out more than that at briefings. You were acting like a mold-clock.”
“I’m fine” I reply to Galan
“I get that, but what happened” respond Galan
“No, I’m actually fine, Galan” I lied
“Lass there is blood” the sadness of one that knows me better than I wish comes over Galan’s face as an iron wetness drips down my arms, back, and eyes.
“You know it's just…
“Gobsh*te Atalanta!” rang out from Galan like a verbal punch. “I know the bleeding is part of your condition, but get up outta that if you think I’m an eejit. Bleeding is still bleeding, and I know it doesn't just happen because the MayHawk changed the winds. What happened in there?!”
What to even say? Sorry, the Phoenix burned my nerves while Bear lashed my bones? I can’t have them start thinking I’m Fae-touched, not having gotten this far. Galan would understand, but that would almost be worse. He is my Mate and comrade, not my Da….
“Zoespoeia” Galan looked confused at me as I said the word “Some call it Takwin or Bio-alchemy, basically the use of alchemy to create and manipulate life.”
“You mean those weird war hounds we fought? Bleedin’ terrifying as they were, you didn't really seem to be having a cat with them and start actually bleeding. Well not more than usual.” Acco trailed off at the last part waving his hand in a circular motion.
“Capitaine, said something about philosopher's stone research, thought that yoke was just a bunch of Fae-songs, but Capitaine is sound even if he acts like a pretentious dope.”
A fire built up inside me, “What's the order?”
“Capture what we can, destroy what we can’t,” Galan states coldly.
“Good.” Clenching my hand I only now notice the rifle in it. The breach was strangely wide, with a firecap instead of a flash pan. On the underside in front of the trigger was a solid level, pushing it up the breach pivots up and open.
“A Volcaean Block Rifle?!” A smile arose on my face as a feeling of childlike joy washes away the blackmood.
The others look at each other and laugh. “Well, there is our Lass.”
“Got another grand craic of a weapon here and lass your only woman for it.” Galan pulls out a pistol holster and hands it to me. I pull the pistol out to reveal a marvelous fire-cap revolver. The ash grip is carved with the republic rooster, and on the blued barrel are engraved a quote from Icron Herb, ‘The Unicorn is Greater, Freed of its Golden Bridle’. More crudely engraved on the chambers are their names; Galan, Acco, Nothos, Carata, … Mary, and Shane. The last two were dead, I… it's war after all…still…
“This is no armory yoke, how did you get it, how could you poor culchies even afford one?!” I chirped in joy as I turned the revolver over in my hands.
“Thous green eyes of yours are so focused popping their lids you fail to notice that Gold Bloods have more than bloodied crests-sigils to loot lass…” Acco slagged back in a mocking boast. “...and we may no longer be bogging recruits anymore but the Angel will come to turn me to salt before I hand it over to some clean boots that wouldn't appreciate the value of good silver.”
“Ha guessing you're right about that” laughing as I jab Acco in the shoulder, but in a lower voice I ask “But why?”
The two just looked at each other and howled in joy “Lass you’ve pulled us from the brink of the crucible so many times that we are slagging with the Great Resbina, and don’t take us for scuts that are too thick to see the real reason that you keep lashing out on your own and take a dander behind enemy lines.” Acco finished.
I just smiled.
“Well Nothos and our guide will be waiting for us, so we need to give ourselves a lash before it starts lashing down on us. It may look like a soft day but that can change.” stated Galan securing his pack.
“Let's go then!
- AH, lets go, lets go, lets go. We will hang the aristocrats with their own rope.
Ah, let go, let go, lets go. ‘Till the Rooster takes back the Sun….”
I sang as we marched off to the mustering point.
“What is with you and singing all the time?” Acco laughed, joining me and Galan.
