Chapter 1

The General and the Poet by Benjamin Agar

Year: 2484 AHV (After Holy Victory)

Age: Late Industra era

Country: The Kingdom Zathar

 

Raleas lined up another shot. Her Stegran mark seven rifle's scope crosshairs were perfectly sighted, but that knowledge hadn't stopped her instincts making her check obsessively after firing. It only took her around a second to look, but it still felt like a waste of time. She barely had to think before she exhaled and pulled the trigger.

 

The orc shaped dummy swung on the rope tied to a tree branch as the bullet went through it dead centre and whizzed out its back. She'd hit it there so often there was no explosion of wood; it just passed through a hole about as twice as large as a bullet.

 

It was fifty metres from where she lay prone in the backyard of her house. Her father had set it up for her when she was twelve.

 

Her mother hadn't approved, Raleas' mother. She...

 

Water welled within Raleas vision, but she shook it away. She wouldn't cry, crying was for the weak, the selfish.

 

Raleas had always thought her mother weak. She had been a famous poet, and she hated guns, hated violence. She'd always said there was more to life than fighting than killing. Raleas' mother was from Halandith. A country in the north-west, a country of prissy people. But that was every country on this continent called Angara which wasn't named Zathar. No other country bordered the orc lands. No other country had to stand as a bulwark against the invasions of such savage, mindless beasts.

 

No other country had to conscript its young people into the military.

 

Conscription was at eighteen and lasted two years, Raleas would've lied about her age and joined, already if her father wasn't a famous general which meant she was somewhat famous too, by proxy.

 

Unlike other countries, like Everdeen, which idolised its aristocracy or Isstarrsia which worshipped its film picture stars, Zathar looked up to its war heroes. The men and women that fought and killed for Zathar, so the entire continent could live their cushy lives safe from the orc hordes.

 

She had always wanted to be like her father; she had always trained hard to fight for Zathar, to be a career soldier.

 

Again, her mother hadn't approved. She'd always go on about how beautiful Raleas was, how Raleas should move to Isstarrsia and become an actress, that she had a talent for it.

 

Her mother did it so often that the compliments wearied Raleas and she became numb to them. Many of the boys in scholarium would stare at her with wide eyes, and a few had asked her out. But she'd always said no. They whispered that she was, classy or pretty when they thought she couldn't hear. She didn't make a deal about it; being emotional was not befitting a sniper.

 

The 'waterworks' as her father contemptuously called them sprang into her gaze again, Raleas cursed and with her sleeve wiped her eyes. But still, when she shot, she was right on target.

 

'I will not cry,' she said. 'Crying is for the weak and helpless.'

 

'Raleas,' came a deep voice behind her which radiated strength and authority. She flinched in fright and turned to find her father standing over her. He wasn't a tall man, barely about the average height, but he always seemed to tower over everyone. His back always ramrod straight, his shoulders broad to a ludicrous degree. He was like a wall, the most robust wall imaginable and he was as emotionless as one too.

 

For some reason, Raleas felt a surge of anger at this thought, though she didn't know why.

 

'It's 1800 hours, dinner,' he said. He was only forty-five but seemed older. His short, close-cropped hair was whiter than the harshest Zatharian winter; his face so scared that it was hard to tell what were scars and what were wrinkles. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started back toward the house.

 

Raleas nodded and with weakened weary limbs slowly stood and followed her father.

 

 

They sat at opposite ends of the long table, and for what seemed to be hours the only sound was their knives and forks on squeaking on their plates.

Their servant, a dwarf, named Colchin had cooked them a special meal, a beautiful roast chicken and Raleas savoured every bite.

 

'You need a hair cut,' said her father, it was so abrupt; it made Raleas judder. Raleas moved her hand through her messy, long brown hair. It coated the right side of her face and fell far below her shoulders. It wasn't military standard, but she liked it long, although, she wasn't sure why. She supposed it was so she could hide her face from the boys. Her mother had always insisted she should look after it more, that she would 'look even prettier if Raleas put more effort into her appearance.'

'The funeral is tomorrow,' he said. 'I will get you an appointment at my barber early tomorrow.'

 

'Where?' said Raleas, she didn't want to ask, she already knew the answer and knew she wouldn't like it.

 

'The church of the Truthful Light. The church we always go to. You know that.'

 

Raleas frowned and put down her fork, before taking a serviette and wiping her lips.

 

'I don't-'

 

'You don't, what?' said her father, his eyes narrowing.

 

Raleas exhaled, working up the courage to say it. 'I don't think mother wanted that.'

 

Her father, with fitful, barely controlled movements put down his knife and fork. 'And what makes you think that?' he said through a twitching jaw.

 

Raleas swallowed. She swallowed a lot of truths. 'She never came with us to church. She...she hated the church of Jaroai, father,' said Raleas.

 

He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. 'And tell me, daughter. Why does this matter? You attend church with me; you should know this is the right thing to do.'

 

Raleas bit her lip and her attention drooped to the stark white cloth, covering the table. She couldn't tell him that the only reason she attended church was to spend time with him. 'I-I just don't think she'd like it.'

 

His fist smashed against the table, causing Raleas to flinch and freeze in her beautiful Amartisian oak chair.

 

'That...that doesn't matter,' he said. 'She has faced judgement and is-'

 

Raleas furrowed her brow so hard. 'Is what, father?'

 

He straightened it was the first time she'd ever seen him seem taken aback.

 

The tears eclipsed her sight. 'She's what, general?'

 

His shock went in a second, replaced by a glare so horrific, Raleas feared for her life.

 

'Get...to your room,' he growled.

 

Raleas didn't hesitate to slam her hand on the table, get to her feet then storm into her room, smashing the door shut behind her.

Chapter 2

On many occasions, Raleas had caught her mother crying, curled up on her bed or in a corner somewhere in the mansion. Sometimes after one of their countless fights, but mostly during the long, long months of her father's absence. Every time Raleas hadn't hesitated to rip into her mother. Tell her how pathetic and weak she was.

 

As Raleas lay on her bed her face buried her pillows. A turning, horrific feeling, twisted in her stomach. Raleas hated it, didn't know what it was, but it hurt more than the anger, the sadness.

 

She had no idea how long she laid like that, but Raleas knew that every second she wished her father would knock on her door, or even kick it open and yell at her. Anything. But nothing. Just silence.

 

The silence seemed always to accompany her father. Raleas was used to it. But this silence was different; it felt like powerful, tight hands held her down, with a ten-ton weight behind them.

 

Still, she didn't cry; despite her body seeming to scream for her to through the pulsing pain in her chest and the swelling and swirling behind her eyelids.

 

It felt like forever before sleep overtook her and a split second before she dropped into the complete dark when she realised the feeling was in her guts.

 

Regret.

 

 

Raleas didn't dream, though she thought she would. But the black constantly twisted with greens and purples that shone and edged with gold and silver. Like petrol moving in water.

 

When Raleas awoke, she found her face buried in a wet pillow.

 

She sighed and rolled onto her back and gazed at the brown and beige ceiling.

 

'I'm sorry, mum,' she said. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

 

Then she rolled on her side and looked at the clock on her bedside table, and when she saw the time, it caused a shudder of shocking cold coursed into her and she sat up and leapt off her bed and barged out her door.

 

'Dad. Dad,' she said, running down the corridor.

 

He slipped out of the doorway leading into the kitchen. He wore his formal uniform. An immaculately pressed, brilliantly blue formal two-piece suit. His peaked cap tucked in the crook of his arm. His gaze was made of narrow slits as he looked down at her.

 

'What are you doing?' he said. 'I did not give you permission to leave your room.'

 

'But it's only an hour until the funeral.'

 

'You are staying here.'

 

It took Raleas a few seconds to process his sentence and when she did a sharp sting shot through her chest.

 

'What?' she said as tears erupted into her eyes, taking over her vision. She could no longer stop them from falling down her face. 'W-why?'

 

'You know why,' he said. 'And stop the waterworks, you look pathetic. Go back to your room. You will not leave this house until I return.'

 

Then he turned to leave.

 

'Please,' she screamed at his broad back. 'Please don't do this to me!'

 

He paused, but only for a second before he walked on.

 

'Dad. Dad,' she said, she wanted to follow him, to grab his tunic, turn him and scream in his face. She wanted to tell him how much of a monster he was. The horrific injustice. The vast disproportion of his retribution.

 

'She's my mum. I don't deserve this. Don't do this to me.'

 

Raleas tried to shout those words, but they emerged from her lips as squeaks and crackles as she hit her back against the wall and slid into a foetal ball.

 

She didn't even know if her sobbing was real or not.

 

She didn't even blink when he slammed the front door shut.

 

Chapter 3

She sat there for Jaroai only knew how long, just staring at the wall. She didn't move; she didn't even think.

 

Hazed white bordered her view, almost like she was staring down her rifle's scope.

 

Four words then seemed to push through her skull and into her mind, that made the haze slither away, that caused her brow to furrow and her eyes, narrow. That made her stand and head for her room.

 

I have to go.

 

 

It was an uncharacteristically calm, warm day for Zathar. As she stepped out of her mother's old Calister 4400 her high heeled foot crunched on the gravel. Raleas wore the black dress she'd bought for the funeral; she'd even applied makeup for the first time in ages. Her mother had taught her how over a few days when Raleas was thirteen, and Raleas had humoured her. Now Raleas treasured that memory. At first, she'd been tempted to leave and get to the service as quickly as she could, but she'd still used the time to 'pretty' herself, mostly to honour that memory.

 

It was one of the few happy times she'd spent with her mother.

 

The church surrounded by hundreds of motor-vehicles of all levels of quality and makes; she'd parked almost right in the entrance having manoeuvred through the maze with ease.

 

Like all churches of Jaroai, it loomed over everything around, its bell tower being at least twelve stories tall. Its white walls were so pure they seemed to reflect the sunlight almost as powerfully as a mirror. On small, white pillars were single triangular, varnished oak beams that lined the walls about a metre from the church, just beneath the brown, angled thatched roof. They were decorated with curling, whirling gold eight-pointed stars, the sign of the Jaroaian religion.

 

Raleas stormed toward the stairs, where two soldiers stood, both in full ceremonial uniform, both about two metres tall and built like brick shit houses.

 

She knew them both, sergeant Kalvik and private Dulgress served under her father in 'The Savages', the elite of the regiment who were the very best of the best of Zathar's already elite military. Some would say, that was debatable, but Raleas knew it was true.

 

'We are under orders not to let you in, ma'am,' said Kalvik. His voice was hollow, like tapping an empty glass bottle on a ceramic pipe as if he knew the order was bullshit.

 

Raleas clenched her jaw; unsurprised her father would order this. She fought the urge to throw her fist at the veteran's face, knowing it wouldn't end in her favour. Not at all.

 

'You aren't seriously going to keep me from my own mother's funeral, sergeant?' she said.

 

Kalvik wasn't a handsome man. He was chinless, his neck and face almost seemed to mould together into a brown cliff face. His eyes would've been too small for his narrow face even if they weren't permanently thin in disdain.

 

But he wasn't a disdainful man despite his outward appearance.

 

'You aren't getting in, ma'am,' he said. 'Now please leave before we have to make you.'

 

Raleas didn't move, her gaze fixed onto his.

 

'Sergeant Kalvik,' she said. 'You are a soldier, aren't you?'

 

Kalvik's brow twitched. 'I have since conscription, ma'am. But-'

 

'But nothing, soldier,' she said. 'And what did they teach you in the academy?'

 

'To follow orders-'

 

'That's not what I mean sergeant, and you know it,' she said. 'You know to what I'm referring to.'

 

Kalvik sighed. 'It isn't-'

 

'Just say it.'

 

'All right, all right,' he hissed through clenched teeth. 'They taught us that sometimes, an order must be ignored, but only if it's in the direst of circumstances and only if the soldier knows the very second that it is given, it is detrimental, evil and worst of all, subverts the will of he who is above all,-'

 

'Jaroai,' said Raleas. 'And do you think in all his benevolence and love would approve of a daughter being forced to miss her mother's funeral?

 

Kalvik grimaced.

 

'Don't tell me you think that's good, or right? You're a soldier, a human being, not an orc.'

 

Her eyes narrowed. 'Or a monster.'

 

Rage, sudden, horrific ensnared Kalvik's face. The rage which was held in check by the slightest of margins.

 

'What are you implying?'

 

'I think it's obvious, isn't it? If you don't step aside and let me say farewell to my mother. I will never forgive you; you will always be a monster no better than an orc. Worse than even my father for ordering this! Let me in, now, Kalvik.'

 

'I'll-I'll,' Kalvik said. 'I'll be kicked out of the army.'

 

Raleas shrugged. 'Maybe, but I'm sure you could take it to the tribunal, and I will act as witness. Surely they wouldn't agree with this travesty? Would they?'

 

Kalvik straightened. 'I-I don't know.'

 

Raleas said nothing, only glared at him, fighting back the tears.

 

'Sir,' said Dulgress, making both Raleas and Kalvik turn, both having forgotten he was there. Dulgress was Kalvik's adjutant, thus his second in command. Dulgress, unlike his sergeant, looked the stereotypical elite soldier. His jaw was ludicrously square, so square his face seemed almost shaped like an oblong. His forehead was as thick as Raleas' bicep and like Raleas and most Zatharians his complexion almost pure white from living in so far south. Raleas had no idea how Kalvik managed to get his tan. Dulgress' small, blue eyes watered beneath his hooded brow. 'Permission to speak, sir.'

 

'You are my adjutant, Dulgress. You don't need permission. Speak.'

 

Dulgress scratched the back of his skull and shuffled his foot. It was a surprisingly young movement from a soldier like him.

 

'With respect, sir. I-I asked because I thought you won't like what I am going to say. But it's too late now. She's right, and she's so right it isn't even worth pointing out. I would rather be kicked out of the military...I would rather die than stand here a minute longer. This is fucked, sir. Completely fucked.

 

Kalvik's jaw dropped so quick, Raleas swore she heard it click and felt a smile speared through her stern expression.

 

Kalvik sighed, placed his hand against his face and turned back to Raleas. 'You're an arse, private. You know that, right?'

 

Dulgress grinned. 'That's the nicest thing you have ever said to me, sir. Thank you.'

 

The sergeant stepped aside and beckoned Raleas onward. 'You're free to go, young ma'am.'

 

Raleas nodded and started to step forwards when Dulgress cleared his throat. 'And if the young ma'am would allow us the honour we'd be honoured to be her escorts, wouldn't we, sir?'

 

Kalvik sniffed. 'Of course, we would, if she allows us, of course?'

 

Raleas nodded again. 'Yes, that'd be good, thank you. Both of you.'

 

The trio then began to ascend the stairs.

Chapter 4

With power bordering on the melodramatic, Raleas flung the huge, double oak doors open. They hit the walls with such a crash that the entire procession dropped into silence. Their attention turning over their shoulders.

 

The priest had frozen in his prayers as he stood at the altar, gaping. His hands still raised above his head. Raleas grimaced, a fitting metaphor. She started down the aisle with Dulgress and Kalvik on her flanks, a step behind her.

 

The church was even more crowded than the car parks outside. People of all ages sat on the pews, and dozens more stood, leaning against the wall. All of their eyes followed Raleas, Kalvik and Dulgress as they stormed toward the front of the church.

 

Her father stepped off the end of the left side pew and stood to face her. Even with her guard up, even with every intention to keep walking, Raleas couldn't help freeze as did Dulgress and Kalvik.

 

Even from five metres away, he seemed to tower over her like a troll.

 

'What are you doing here?' he said. His rumbling, deep voice seemed to destroy the very air around Raleas, making it hard to breathe. 'I told you that you cannot attend the funeral.'

 

Raleas swallowed and furrowed her brow, and she swore she could hear Kalvik and Dulgress doing the same.

 

'Sergeant, private,' said her dad. 'You were meant to stop her from entering. I had given you explicit orders.'

 

'Sir, I-' said Dulgress, but Raleas interrupted him with a raised hand, she knew now that all attention plastered on the general.

 

'This is between you and me, father,' said Raleas. 'Leave them out of this.'

 

'They disobeyed an order,' said the general.

 

'Only because that order was bullshit,' said Raleas.

 

There were no gasps or any other sound of shock from the mourners; the silence just became even more intense, even more weighted — accusing, almost terrified.

 

Her father's only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. 'I am general Sologhor Effernetti of the 81st Zatharian regiment no order I have ever given, nor any I will ever give is 'bullshit.' Now leave, before I make you leave.'

 

Raleas stood her ground. 'I am not budging an inch, father. This is where I'm supposed to be; she was my mother. What kind of person would prevent his own daughter from attending her mother's funeral?'

 

'A man who's daughter needs to understand her place!' he said, and Raleas had to fight not to take a step back. 'You questioned me; you questioned my wisdom.'

 

Raleas straightened as the realisation hit her. 'And that brought it out, didn't it?'

 

He took a slight step back. 'What?'

 

'The only person in this world who questioned you was her,' said Raleas. 'The only person who never kowtowed around you; was her. So when I did, it brought those memories back, made you feel it...'

 

'Feel what?'

 

'The sadness,' said Raleas. 'Made you have to face it. That's why you punished me; I remind you of her, I made you feel weak-'

 

Faster than Raleas thought possible her father had crossed the distance between them and his hand clasped around her throat.

 

'How dare you,' he said while raising her from her feet with one hand. 'How dare you talk to me like that.'

 

Raleas grinned despite her struggle to breathe. 'What did you...say to me?'

 

'Huh?' he said.

 

'You taught me...father, that the first to lose their temper...loses,' said Raleas. 'Even if they kill their enemy, they still...lost the battle of wits and thus will...lose, again one...day. To let emotion override their judgement...is a weakness...and...and that's just...what you...did.'

 

'That, that wasn't the...way...of the...officer,' she gasped. 'You...have...lost.'

 

Then something happened that Raleas had never seen before, something that sent such potent confusion through her, her jaw dropped.

 

He smiled, then without a word he let her go, and she fell onto her arse, unable to control her legs.

 

His smile grew into a grin, then he threw back his head and exploded into laughter. Strange, almost psychotic laughter that rang through the church and seemed to turn Raleas' brain into sludge.

 

She needed to ask what was so funny but she couldn't. Her neck hurt, her throat was on fire, but the pain was nothing compared to her horror. Her horror that the laughter was genuine.

 

He laughed for what seemed an age, as though he'd pent up decades of mirth and was only letting it out now. When he was finally, finally finished, he looked down at Raleas, grinning like a madman.

 

'You have passed,' he said.

 

The church erupted into a hissing sea bemused whispers.

 

'What?' Raleas managed.

 

'Did I stutter?' he said. 'You have passed the test, Raleas. You have done well.'

 

'I-I don't understand.'

 

'You have proven you have innate officer potential,' he said. 'You have proven you are worthy of being my adjutant. So you may bypass starting as private and having to work your way up the ranks.'

 

A collective gasp surrounded Raleas.

 

'B-but, sir, that's impossible,' said Kalvik. 'Everyone has to start at the bottom; there are no exceptions even for the children of officers.'

 

'I am making her an exception, sergeant,' said the general. 'She has more than proven herself.'

 

'How?' said Raleas, her voice barely a whisper, but her father somehow heard her.

 

'How? I thought it was rather obvious, young lady. First, you managed to get the strength to make your way here, overcame your depression. That shows exceptional willpower. Second, you managed to convince Kalvik and Dulgress onto your side somehow, that shows you have great skill in persuasion. Third, you managed to hold your ground against me and read me. That shows admirable courage and skill at reading others and remarkable self-control.'

 

He shrugged. 'Of course, I was faking it, but you still read what I was faking. Maybe one day you'll even see through that. You have proven you can be more than just a sniper, Raleas that you will make a fine officer, too. I'm not surprised; you are my daughter, after all.'

 

Raleas couldn't say anything; she could only gape in utter shock.

 

'Now, on your feet, my daughter,' he said. 'You have more than earned your place here, in this funeral.'

 

Without meaning to and almost like she was puppet pulled by strings, Raleas stood and sat at the front pew, her vision bordered in that same haze of hours ago. She had no idea what to think, what to feel.

 

Then someone started to clap, they were followed by another, then another and another until the entire funeral filled with applause. The only ones not clapping were Raleas, the general and Kalvik.

 

It lasted for almost half a minute before dying away.

 

'Begin again, Felemhue,' said the general.

 

The priest cleared his throat and did as told, as though nothing had occurred.

 

It was then Raleas realised what she was feeling. Then her hands on her thighs curled into fists, fists so tight it caused pain to pulse into her bones and up her arms.

 

Chapter 5

'That was a nice funeral,' he said as they sat down for dinner. For a long time, the only sound was their knives and forks making squeaking sounds on their respective plates.

 

'Yes,' said Raleas.

 

He frowned, his usual grimness had disappeared, replaced by horrid happiness. 'You have barely said a word since the funeral, my daughter.'

 

Raleas didn't reply; she just continued to cut into her steak.

 

'You should be happy,' he said. 'You no longer have to work from the bottom and most of all, you have made me proud.'

 

Raleas put down her knife and fork. 'Mum is dead.'

 

'Hmm?' he said. 'Yes, I am aware of that.'

 

'How could you use her death like that?' said Raleas.

 

He clenched his jaw. 'Watch how you speak. I have given you an opportunity, the honour to be the first-ever recruit to be an adjutant in the history of this great nation. I can take it away in a second. It's less than a month until you are recruitment age you-'

 

'I don't want your damned opportunity,' said Raleas, as she stood from her seat. 'I would rather die.'

 

'I can arrange that if you want,' he said. 'With my bare hands.'

 

'I would like to thank you, father.'

 

Her words seemed to take him off guard, but only for a split second. 'Thank me for what?'

 

'I'd like to thank you for confirming everything mother said. It should've been her I looked up to, not you.'

 

For the first time, he gaped, seeming lost for words and Raleas turned and started away.

 

'W-where are you going?' he said.

 

'I'm calling Granda and Nani,' said Raleas, without looking back. 'I'm going to stay with them in Halandith until my birthday. I would've asked to stay with them at the funeral, but couldn't because, you know. You had forbade them from coming.'

 

She heard him smash his hands on the table.

 

'You ungrateful little bitch! I-'

 

Raleas stopped and looked over her shoulder, interrupting him. 'I never want to see you again, general. Goodbye.'

 

She turned and walked again, and tears started to roll down her face.

 

I'm sorry, mother. I can finally see it now. I'm sorry...I'm sorry, that it took me this long. You stayed for me and that...that ultimately led to your death.

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.07.2020

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Widmung:
Since she was young, Raleas looked up to her father and in contempt of her mother and dreamed and obsessively practised to become a sniper. But then her mother died, and now Raleas is beginning to reevaluate everything she stands for.