A Question of Why

[Taken From the Writings of Alinte Euchorte]

4 Maun. Korona

Visited Roran with Vani and Ina. Still embedded, but his rattling had quieted, with vitals enough to fuss and flutter over my arrival and that of his granddaughter. Ina, bless her little soul, blunted much of his edge with the raucous joviality that endeared her to Vani and I; one day, when she is older and he is perhaps gone, I shall have to impress upon her my gratitude in those moments. For now, it was enough that I was not interrogated fiercely, and she was contented to be with her grandpuh-pa. Too, the severity of my requisition enforced on the scenario a brevity which fit nicely to my comforts, which are, if I am writing honestly, strained by events: prior, present, and possible.

There is some consternation in Belfrost, severe enough that they have called together an Expedition. No one knows, or is speaking on, anything else. Not even the Lord-Commander, who I was shocked to learn would make the march with us.

Vani walked with me to the staging ground hand-in-hand, Ina fixed upon her shoulders; the crowds were thick and hostile, and I chafed over Ina accompanying us. The fervor in the city rushed as a river through the streets, carrying the pious and secular alike toward the waiting legion.

Writing this now, as we rest en-route to Rullenroot Academy, free from motherly concerns, I feel more at ease with the decision. It would have been unfair to deprive Ina the chance at a proper parting; and besides, I know she yearned to see the klaerics.

Civilians were not being permitted beyond the gates, so we said our good-byes outside and in full-view of the attending guards. Someone invariably passed word to Ilgort; he badgered me incessantly with ribbing, until the Lord-Commander barked for order.

A beautiful day: not a cloud to dull the smarting blue of the sky, a warm breeze blowing off the coast and the cries of gulls peppered the restless snorting of the animals and the murmuring of the gathered force. My stomach was somewhere about my knees; never before had I witnessed such a congregation of our city’s force. We stood fifteen-hundred to a man: A mixed regiment of pikemen and archers packed in tight formation. At the head sat the Lord-Commander and his command—I could only tell for the colorful banners flapping above the heads of my fellows-in-arms. At our backend milled a line of supply-men: armorers, smiths, cooks, stablemen, tackers and carpenters, replete with all manner of burden-beasts.

It was then I first caught sight of them.

They entered the grounds from the north at our backs; I may have missed them for all the commotion except that the fervent crowds outside fell to a hush. 

Their leader rode at the head upon a great black stallion befitting his titanic structure, both furnished in reddish-gold warplate trimmed in night. Helm cradled in one mighty arm, his face was revealed: dark-skinned, keen-eyed, with his Koroni heritage inked upon his hairless head. The man presented like a statue given to life, with a strength and fortification beyond the match of mortal men.

At his side rode another, slighter in frame and narrow of feature. He bore echoes of the southern Koroni, light of complexion with black hair shorn high and swept back in a classical style. Yet, a curiosity marked his ancestry, one I cannot fathom. Ilgort called him handsome, and despite my own tastes, I find it hard to argue—though, there was, in the crook of his mouth and the glint of his eyes, a smugness that I found repulsive. (Mem., consider scratching out?) He seemed an ill-match to the pure-bred Koroni, who radiated a palpable wisdom. I would learn later during our respite that they had taken certain oaths as klaerics, and persisted as brothers.

The rest of the host followed in swift procession—I do hope Ina could see them from your shoulders, Vani. They are a marvelous breed, these men and women of the Order of Arkaenus, the heraldry of their schools embroidered on tunic and tabard, vambrace and pauldron. The Vindicators are an easy spot, for I have seen them here and about on my postings, though never of a magnitude so great, nor so ready for war. Their fellows at heel are lesser known to me; light of armor and bedecked in pouches and hang-bags, many wore great hoods, heads bowed, as if the natural world was anathema to them. Others wore thick cloth about the eyes decorated in thin silver thread. They could not see, yet they walked unaided, sure-footed as any sighted soul. An esoteric fraternity; they reeked of arkaena and other, subtler idents. A notable shiver passed over our troop; I fight to keep its echoes from my hand.

Their remaining force mirrored our own, in function if not fashion; the only exception was their holy men, dressed in simple robe and tunic. Familiarity is a comfort to the besieged mind, and I think we were all grateful for it. I write this with no shame.

We sit camped after a day’s march, hardly to Korona’s border. Our destination is Rullenroot academy, an Order-operated housing nestled in a settled patch of the Frontier; the Lord-Commander says it is to acquire reserve forces… My stomach knotted at his words. We are thousands strong! We asked what awaited in Belfrost, but the Lord-Commander refused to say.

“Captain Artaenis will deliver a briefing once the auxiliary force is collected,” was all he offered. “So don’t badger me a’more about it. Or him,” he added.

I’ve not seen the Lord-Commander so nervous.

My eyes grow heavy. I wish I’d matched gazes with you both one last time as the crowds had surged to see us out of the city, but my senses were overtaken and I found it healthier to keep my attentions ahead. Still, I could use the comfort (Mem., Is that selfish? I left them.)

A full ellipse separates us from Rullenroot, with Belfrost measures more beyond that. I’ve not marched so far from home a’fore.

Vani, my love; Ina, my peach… [words are scribbled out] I shall see you soon.

5 Teadre. Rullenroot.—The Academy

Another six-hundred klaerics awaited us at Rullenroot. The Lord-Commander permitted us a small break while Captain Artaenis makes word with the headmasters. My fingers sting from the cold; Ilgort chafes me for not wearing my mitts, but I find them cumbersome to keep ledger with, and I wish to notate all I can in what time I have left.

The surrounds here are, in a word, breathtaking. Life in the capital has ill-prepared me for such wonders. Absent is the drone of a humanity always on the move; in its wake, a silence so primordial our very presence here feels blasphemous to the Creator’s intent. Every breath sparks in the lungs; the air smarts senses inured to industrial living. All is wooded with mighty, ancient trees whose sprawling canopies fragment the sun. Humanity’s footprint is seldom seen here, save for the occasional settlers’ town. Most were seen at distance; others, placed on paths well-trod by the Frontiersmen and all who followed thence, we passed through—but swiftly and without pause, so as not to disrupt their fragile ecosystems.

Rullenroot Academy harbors no such issue. Its campuses are expansive: there is the school and its dorms, kitchens, training fields, a barracks and command post—even, I was told, proper housing for the instructors. We stood twelve-thousand strong within those timbered walls, yet we might have been one, for all the space we took. Never have I seen such vastness; I spent much of my meal gawking at the manicured gardens with their tinkling fountains, and guessing at the foreign styling of the present architecture. (Mem., look up Academy at the historium once home.)

The new klaerics bring an enthusiasm bordering on naiveté. Though I spotted a few steely-eyed veterans and other, more composed types, a disproportionate number of the Eighth Chapter appeared recently cleft from the classroom; hardly a beard to a boy, while the girls lurched in the awkward breeze of burgeoning womanhood. They milled about in cliques, the more ecstatic types casting wide eyes our way and whispering over-loud to their compatriots. Their reverence unsettles me; part of me was glad when a commotion erupted—a rush of raised voices and a girl went into a hedge, their antagonist close to hand. It looked set for blows but a burly youth in Vindicator raiments had separated from the prayer-circle to intervene. She was dreadlocked and red-faced, towering over the procession—the equal of Captain Artaenis, nearly!—chastising them like an older sister scouring ill-behaved siblings. It was amusing, and humanizing in a way that waylaid any lingering awe about the klaerics.

“Awe blunts the mind,” said the Lord-Commander once, “and a blunted mind is akin to a blunted blade: it’s a good way to end up dead.”

A fine thing to remember now.

12 Eglei. Belfrost

Mere miles separate us from our destination. The camp is eager to press on, but Captain Artaenis will not move the troop until morning. Few are pleased in our regiment, but the Lord-Commander has no authority over this sortie. We are tired. Frayed by foreign climes. When the Creator made Belfrost, It did so in neglect of softer constitutions. There is a majesty here, as in all the Creator’s works, but cruelty, too; the wind bites and snaps like some rabid hound, possessed of a deadly chill that has already afflicted several of our number with a queer affliction the hospitalers call black-limb. The ground is hard and frigid, all rock and hardy scrub-plants. The mountain range looms along the horizon, an unbroken, obstinate barrier. Though we travel with the Order’s blessing, I cannot shake the feeling that we march upon a land not meant for us, as if we approach the edge of the permissible world.

This journey has afflicted me with a terrible superstition; Roran would call it faithlessness.

I would prefer not to think of him at all, yet since entering the pass into Belfrost he has sundered my nights, as though my fear attracts him.

I am afraid; I write that with no shame. My heart longs for home—for you, Vani, and sweet little Ina. But I keep it private to these pages; we cannot afford to be routed now.

The klaerics appear unperturbed. I find myself envious of their resolve. Inspired. The fresher blood however have turned sullen and moody with the ellipse. Ilgort and I have welcomed the more lonesome into our fraternity; we share our coco, Ilgort his jokes, and they their prayer. Ilgort implores after the young second—Silvio, I’ve learnt him named—and the children tease him playfully. The klaerichood is advised on celibacy, we’re told. I cannot imagine it. A life without my Vani’s love… It breeds in me a new appreciation for these children—what resolve!—but a great sadness, too. How can one love the Creator, life itself, by forsaking one of its greatest treasures?

Perhaps I am faithless.

I wish Roran would leave me be.

13 Eglei.—The Town

In the shadow of the mountains, the chill is near-unbearable. Even our watch-fires balk at the task of bringing a living warmth to this place. The locals tell us important ore and minerals are extracted from the mines running deep in the mountain’s belly, but it seems an ill trade to suffer such unrelenting hostility. I wonder if their troubles aren’t a punishment; truly, the Creator did not wish for man to come here.

Belfrost proper is an industrious nest of residential and commercial sectors assembled from sturdy ashwood hauled from Rullenroot and its neighbors. The roads, such as they are, submit to the natural curves of the mountain, creating a bizarre highway of elevations and descents that make for delicate footing and treacherous chokepoints. I hate to think of any serious fighting breaking out here.

Past the main town are the mining settlements; we can see them dotting the cold purple slopes, ramshackle constructs that sway in the wind. Belfrost’s money flows downward.

Captain Artaenis left with a small honor guard to interview the local authorities, while the Lord-Commander had us establish defensive holdings throughout the town. Miners were missing, along with investigators from both the local klaerichood and constabulary; we were here to reinforce and maintain order.

When the captain returned, the klaerics were mustered, then separated into companies and sent into the mining towns. Their march was solemn as the day we’d left Korona. A few of the young bloods waved to Ilgort and I as we stood in the city square. Emotion took me, and I fought the urge to cry out to them as they dwindled into the horizon. I see my younger self amidst them. Do they know what they’re doing? What they’ve signed up for?

Did I?

14 Eglei

Made the rounds. Played a few games of knuckles with Ilgort and a cook named Sunna. The klaerics have not returned.

15 Elgei

Broke up a fight between two locals. One of them bit Ilgort, then made for his knife. One of our archers put the man to a knee, then the constables hauled him off. Wouldn’t stop screaming about teeth. Physicks took Ilgort to look him over; he still wasn’t back when I finished patrolling.

16 Elgei

I dreamt about teeth in a dark that sounded like Roran. Woke up in a sweat, words breathing on my ear. Thought it was Ilgort making light, but his bedroll was empty.

I don’t know what to write about but I don’t want to go back to sleep.

Vani, Ina, I miss you both so much. If this journal reaches you ahead of meI hope you’re okay.

I want to pray but I’m afraid.

17 Eglei

One of the Arkaenite holy men, Resonant Idun, visited ourmy post today. (Mem., must ask to check on Ilgort) He smiled, more with his eyes than mouth, which I found acceptable since I have been in no mood to smile. My mouth still hurt where a local man had struck me hours earlier; I could feel my grip twisting on the pike’s shaft, slivers of wood rifting into my palm; the pain kept the chattering away.

I suppose he saw the blood trickling because his gaze cooled. He reached for my arm, to touch me, but retracted at my flinch.

“Are you unwell, Mrs Euchorte?” He smiled at my surprise, added: “I requested a transcript of the personnel roster. I have been memorizing it since we left the Holy Capital.”

“You remember them all?”

He nodded. “Some believe names hold great power; they are thresholds of a deeper understanding. I just think it’s courteous.”

His smile put me at ease. It made me think of you, Vani. So, I spake:

“I cannot sleep. I hear my father’s voice at night, gnashing in my ear—like teeth, the teeth the man screamed about. He tells me I am damned in the eyes of the Creator because of Ina. Because Vani and I…

“I am blighted, Resonant. And this place knows it. I can feel its shadow seeping into me. Look around! The people are taken to madness! It wants me next.”

“And it will surely have you if you let it. You despair: for your life, your friends, your family. Your faith.” His knowing look chastened me. “But despair cannot thrive without hope. It feeds off of it, just as this malignancy feeds on Belfrost. But it can be reversed, the balance adjusted. It just takes a little believing.”

“How can I do that when the Creator will not hear me?”

“How can you know It will not, unless you try?”

A summons reached him. Idun signed me under the Arkaena, then quickly as he’d come, he disappeared.

But his warmth remained. It stirs in me even now as I sit on my bedroll and pen these lines.

I read his words—his challenge—and I ponder it.

The teeth are gnashing already. Father’s voice… he tells me no. He’s always told me no.

No, you can’t be a soldier.

No, you can’t marry Vani.

No, you can’t adopt this child.

I didn’t listen to him.

No, you can’t pray anymore.

Why did I listen to him then?

No, you can’t survive this.

Why am I listening to him now?