Project Un: Blood Runner

“Early to rise, early to die.” Wynian muttered as he rolled out of bed. The glow of morning light reflected off spear tips, somehow always shining on his pillow. His calloused hands rubbed gunk from his eyelids. The snoring of his tent mates could still be heard. Some men muttered in their sleep, others rolled over like deadmen in graves. Lancers didn’t have to be ready until Mid-day. Unfortunately for Wynian, he was a runner. News had to get around somehow, and that meant some poor fellows had to make sure letters, packages, and orders were at tents before Lance Leaders were up. Then again at full day, and then again at dusk. 

Wyn rolled up his sheets and packed them away in standard procedure. He left his personal belongings stashed away under his spare clothes. Wyn yawned and threw his satchel over his head. Morning shift never was his strength. He fastened his shoes and made his way to the tent flap of a door. He avoided bottles and discarded boots. Wyn lifted the flap to exit the tent, and found a letter at his feet. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. A letter? 

The sun had just breached the horizon. There was no chance that Wyn had missed his shift. Yet he had double checked that the entrance was clear last night. Wyn opened his satchel. No letters in there. Had it fallen out? With a back cracking bend, Wyn scooped up the letter. The envelope had a pristine white color, although the back was soiled from the dirt. Prints were on it from boots, thus the letter had arrived this morning. 

Wyn looked at the name written on it. The ink had smudged a little, but it seemed to address the Lead Lancer, Grel. It couldn’t be orders, that would have a seal on it, and there was none. Grel spoke very plainly about his personal life, and he mentioned frequently that he had no family relations or lovers. Most in the legion didn’t. Wyn himself had no family. At least, none that wanted him. 

The legion wanted the forlorn and the forsaken in their ranks. The damned were those meant to be led into battle by the Ichor. Mostly those of a lower blood would be taken in. High bloods were needed in service of the Hallowed. Those lucky few would be pampered and well kept; Trading their blood for luxury. Wynian frowned. Technically he was trading his blood as well. Spending it on the luxuries of being an errand boy for the legion. His blood had been a higher blood than most, good for runners and bleeders. However, Wyn was too young to be a bleeder. They said his blood wasn’t potent enough for the Cleansing.

All of this didn’t matter much to Wyn. He’d run for a few years and have enough coin to end up somewhere quiet. If he got bored, he could even attend the schools of ascension with the money he’d have. Some people thought the honor of fighting alongside the Ichor was enough. Others, like Wyn, did it for the coin. And there were others, a small few, who simply did it because they had nothing left to do in life. 

Wyn shook his head of all these thoughts. Time was slipping away from him, he had no moments to spare for daydreaming. He stared at the letter in his hand. It seemed to taunt him, begging him to open it. Duty reminded him that it was a crime to disrupt the flow of information. If it was not sent for him, then it was not for him to know. Yet something tugged at him. Curiosity? Conscience? Wyn wondered if someone had sent this letter to Grel in order to kill him. 

With shaky anticipation and a thrill of secrecy, Wyn opened the envelope. He unfurled the pink paper of the letter. Wyn knew his script as well as the next man, but the wording and language of the letter was very difficult to understand. It indeed was addressed to Grel, but it made no sense after that.

Brother of the Marrow, 

The Unborn Whisper has reached our ears. Those Alive in Death will not Rest. A Blood of White shall emerge, yet remain stained in Crimson. Tainted is the High Blood who will Ascend the Third. The Dual Twin, the Second Sun, shall shatter Dathanem. Ranks will spill, all will Rise. Abandon the Fields to the Ded. Travel the Towers of Tril, Find the Mother of Metal. With Shadow and Light make haste. Forests belong to Audon, Beware Hollow eyes and the Demi Blades. Quickly now, to Recover the Gift and Spare the Worthy! 

Our Mother gives Birth to the Angel of Death. 

Her Brethren of Bone will cleanse Eve’s blood. 

The Serpent sleeps as the Sun Slumbers. 

Shrouds of Shadow shall be our Sanctuary.

Be Swift!

L.

Wyn felt his stomach lurch. Grel was a part of something very unsettling. In league with crazed men or something worse. This was no threat to Grel, and Wyn felt his face go pale. He had broken the oath of the runner to read this. What did it mean? What would he do? He could leave it for Grel, replace it and act as if it had been with the rest. Wyn shook his head. His unsteady hands had wrinkled the letter. He couldn’t leave it behind like that. Wyn felt sick. His gut told him he had stepped into something far bigger than he could handle. Seeing no other option, Wyn stuffed the letter in his shirt and hid it well. 

He let the tent flap fall behind him. Before he could begin running, Wyn looked up just as he stumbled face first into an Ichor. The bronze skin of the man gleamed like an aura of golden light around him. The shaven head caught the sunlight. The Ichor turned to face Wyn. The deep brown eyes had a star of gold etched in the iris. The muscles of the man tensed visibly. Wyn trembled and he clamped his mouth shut, not realizing it had opened. 

The Ichor smiled. 

Ichor did not smile. Ichor did not look eye to eye with any commoner. The gift of their gaze was for the finest of warriors. Wyn looked away and muttered an apology. 

“Do not worry,” The Ichor said. His voice like a reverberating drum carried peace. Wyn blinked. He nodded quickly and spouted many thanks before hurrying away. A strange letter, and now the honor of the Ichor. What was happening? Wyn shuddered and ran as fast as he could from the strangeness of the day. Along the way, Wyn remembered the words he spoke this morning and wished greatly that it wasn’t true. 

Early to rise, Early to die.