Five Thousand, Six Hundred Twenty-Eight

**Trigger Warning: Blood and Gore**

Five thousand, six hundred twenty-eight. Five thousand, six hundred twenty-eight soldiers lay dead on the battlefield. Some had their armor torn from their bodies, others had their limbs torn from their torsos. Piles of mangled metal laid on the blood-stained grass, mixed with the piles of rotting flesh and bone. The setting sun caught on the shields and helmets, creating the illusion of small shining lights in the tall grass, as though they were candles for a tribute to the dead. 

Five thousand, six hundred twenty-eight soldiers lay slaughtered in the dirt, and this number was exact because there were five thousand, six hundred thirty soldiers in Elendary’s army, and only two of them remained standing. Two soldiers stood in the midst of the bodies and rubble, both missing their helmets and neither quite comprehending that they were staring at another living human being. For hours, all they had seen across the miles of battlefield was corpses laying upon other corpses. Both assumed — even if it was just for a second — that they were staring at a ghost. Merely a whispered memory of a life that had long been snuffed out in the battle hours before.

The taller of the two boys, Huxley Thorne — who had managed to retain most of his armor, but had long since lost his sword and shield — was the first to realize that he was staring at a member of the living. Even then, he didn’t dare move, lest the figure in front of him turn out to be nothing but a creation of his mind. If he moved, then the illusion might shatter, then he would be left all alone again, walking among the corpses until he further lost his mind. 

The smaller boy, Edric Wintone, wasn’t so quick to believe — or to hope — that someone else might have survived. He had lost almost half his armor, and only held onto a heavy, cracked shield that wasn’t even his to begin with. Huxley’s appearance certainly didn’t help him come to any rational conclusions. He was staring at a boy his own age with a face smeared with blood, both his own and that of others. He was bruised, with cuts across his nose and cheek, and one eye swollen shut. Edric didn’t realize that he looked quite the same. 

“You’re alive,” Huxley said at last, his voice nothing more than a hollow whisper, but the sound carried easily over the silence of death that surrounded them. 

At the same moment, Edric found his voice for long enough to cry, “You have to be a ghost,” and their words overlapped, causing them both to draw back and stare at each other, neither expecting the other to speak. 

“I am no ghost,” Huxley assured. Then he paused and stared down at his own dirty hands. “At least, I don’t believe that I am.”

“No,” Edric insisted, his voice shaking with rage, or sorrow, or perhaps something in between. “No, you’re an apparition come to taunt me for that which I have lost. You’re no more alive than the many thousands of my brothers who have fallen today.”

“I am almost inclined to believe you. Unfortunately, I can still feel my heart beating within my chest.”

“That means nothing. Surely even ghosts must keep their memories of living. That’s all your heartbeat is. A memory.”

“You feel it then.” Huxley held out his hand as though to beckon him closer. “Feel my heartbeat and prove it to both of us.”

Edric took one step, then stopped himself. “You’ll hurt me.”

“I don’t carry a weapon,” Huxley promised. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already.”

Edric took one more step, then — when the other soldier didn’t make any movement — another. Then another, and another, until finally the two boys stood face to face. From here, Edric could see that — despite his voice and demeanor not giving away his emotions as his own had — the other soldier’s gaze was empty. The eye that was not swollen shut looked like the thousands of others that would never look at anything again.

Slowly, Edric lifted his hand and placed it upon Huxley’s chest. His touch was met with cold, dented metal, causing him to retract his hand almost immediately. It took him far too long to realize that Huxley simply hadn’t lost his breastplate in the battle, nor had either of them thought that he would need to take it off.

Without pause, Huxley swiftly undid the straps and clasps on his breastplate as only someone with a lot of practice could. He discarded the ruined metal onto the ground, quickly followed by the chainmail and padding underneath. He had no use for it anymore. 

This time, when Edric reached out, his fingers met the thin, worn, and rough fabric of Huxley’s tunic. As he pressed his palm flat against his chest, he could easily feel the steady thump, thump of a live heart beating as it was supposed to. It was no phantom sensation, but physical proof that he wasn’t standing in front of a memory. 

Edric let his shield tumble from his hand so that he could place both hands over Huxley’s beating heart. He stood there, staring, for what felt like hours. It was only a minute at most, but the relief that washed through him seemed to make time stretch out. Somewhere in that time, tears started to carve a path through the grime and blood on his face.

“See,” Huxley placed his own hands over the smaller ones on his chest and took a long, deep breath that rattled as it escaped his throat again, “I told you I was alive.”

“You weren’t sure either,” Edric said, his voice horse from the tears on his face. “I’m still not sure. For all I know, we’re both dead.”

“Maybe we are,” Huxley agreed, reaching out to gently brush his fingers across Edric’s cheek. “Maybe we’re both ghosts. Either way, we’re together, aren’t we?”

Edric leaned into his touch, squeezing his eyes shut to try and block the tears. “I suppose, but even then, what are we supposed to do now?”

“Lay down. Sleep.”

“Among the corpses?”

Huxley shook his head dully, looking past Edric to the destruction behind him. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Where else is there?”

“The world isn’t a battlefield.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Still, there must be somewhere peaceful.” Huxley let his hand drop from Edric’s face and carefully pulled his hands away from his heart. “We’ll find somewhere peaceful to sleep.”

“I’m not sure how far I can walk.”

“I’ll help you.”

The soldiers each took one more long look at the face of the other, then Huxley placed his arm around Edric’s waist and pulled him close to his side. The pair started walking, one stumbling step at a time, through the stillness that was unbroken by anything else. No breeze accompanied them, nor a buzzard or a songbird. Even the tall grass only moved as the boys brushed through it.

In truth, neither of them had the energy to walk, but both kept moving to stop the other from falling. Each feared that if the other fell, then they would just become another lifeless husk on the ground, staring at nothing and waiting for the animals to return and pick their muscles from their bones. They didn’t fear dying so much as they feared losing the other to time, or fate, or whatever it was that had decided to punish them in this way.

The loose scraps of armor that still hung from their bodies fell to the ground as they stumbled through the carnage until the only piece of metal that remained was Edric’s chainmail shirt, and even that was only because it wasn’t easy to pull on a strap and let it fall as they did with the other armor. It felt wrong to wear armor when a battle was no longer raging. What was there for it to protect them from anymore? No amount of iron could protect them from the sorrow and silence that ate at their minds. 

Neither knew where they were going or what they were trying to find, nor how far the battle had stretched. They did know that they had walked for miles before finding each other and that they would probably have to walk for miles more to find the edge of the massacre. All they could do was keep walking and try not to look at the faces of those fallen. Edric gazed up at the empty sky and the setting sun, while Huxley kept no more than a passing glance on the ground; just enough to keep them from tripping.

Eventually, after the sun had almost slipped entirely behind the horizon, the boys finally stopped at the base of a hill that lay beyond the wreckage. They looked to the twisted oak tree at the top of the hill, just as dead as everything else in the field, and then to each other. With no words spoken, a decision was made and the boys — still clutching each other with vice-like grips — began to climb the hill. The incline felt more grueling than anything they had traversed so far, but they were so close to a spot to rest, that they couldn’t care. It didn’t matter they couldn’t feel most of their bodies, or that the parts they could feel ached or stung. None of it mattered because it was almost all over. 

At the crest of the hill, Huxley collapsed first. He let go of Edric and fell a few feet from the base of the tree. He didn’t even try to get back up. He couldn’t feel. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even cry. 

Though every one of his muscles shook with exhaustion, Edric grasped his partner under the arms and hauled him towards the tree, until Edirc’s back hit the tree and he was able to sink to the ground with his new companion in his arms. While Huxley couldn’t cry, Edric definitely could. In fact, he hadn’t stopped crying since the two soldiers came face to face.

Huxley found enough strength to barely pull himself further onto Edric’s chest, and only then did he still his body and close his eyes, ready to pass out for hours, even if it meant that he might never actually wake up. He was somewhat bigger than his partner, and their bodies stacked together caused already broken bones to be crushed, but that didn’t matter as much as the contact did. 

“I don’t even know your name,” Edric whispered, just before either of them fell asleep.

“Do our names even matter?”

“I think they should.”

“Huxley.”

“Edric.”

“That’s a nice name,” Huxley mumbled, yawning. He couldn’t even feel the pain of his injuries anymore. “Close your eyes, Edric. Go to sleep.”

“What are we supposed to do when we wake up? We’re thousands of miles from home.”

Huxley didn’t want to mention that he suspected they might never wake up. “I don’t think we have a home anymore. It’s just us.”

“What about our families?”

“I don’t think we’ll see them again. I’ll be your family, if you want.”

“That sounds nice…” He let his voice trail off, staring into the twinkling stars that were starting to appear. “Huxley—”

“Go to sleep,” Huxley instructed, cutting him off. “I’d love to stay and talk with you, but I don’t think that we can.”

“I’m scared your heart will stop beating.”

“You’re not scared for yourself?”

“If I die, then I won’t be alone. If you die, then I will be.”

“What if we both die?”

Edric moved his hand just enough for his fingers to brush against the back of Huxley’s matted, filthy hair. “Then we’ll still be together.”

“I promise you, if you still need me, then I won’t let myself die. I’m so tired though…”

“We’re both bleeding.”

“We can’t stop that. Please close your eyes,” Huxley begged. “We don’t need to worry.”

Finally, Edric let his eyes flutter shut and his head fall against the rough bark of the old tree. Neither boy felt the pain that they should from their shattered bones or the deep, long wounds from their enemies’ swords. All they felt was the creeping, overwhelming exhaustion that overtook their bodies, turning their muscles to stone. 

Five thousand, six hundred twenty-eight soldiers lay dead on the battlefield.

Two soldiers lay dead on a hill, resting against an old, twisted oak tree as though they were only sleeping.