Chương 46: 45 – Elmerina Soldier

Owinda was bawling as the crowd began to disperse, her head buried in Pretyr's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. His other was occupied, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding face. Travis was hovering around them, asking how he could help. Uraleka had returned to Hadra, but the girl was visibly vibrating with restraint to come talk to me. She couldn't, though, as I was still engaged in conversation with Mularet and the High Bannerman.

The soldier with the broken nose had stood back up, enraged, but a glare from Presken had him scurrying back to his group, which was for the best. He was bleeding more than Pretyr.

"No matter the ill will this morning has brought between us, we would still ask more of your people," Presken said, turning to Mularet, and curiously, me.

"Aye, that's what the army does," Mularet replied.

"Mera mentioned that she'd 'be called.' Girl usually has her nose in every bit of gossip around the town, and she's rarely wrong. That mean there's a draft coming?" I gave a sheepish grin. He wasn't exactly wrong. Might as well lean into it.

"I know stuff. It's what I do." Presken nodded, with an irritated glare towards me.

"I'd have preferred that particular bit of knowledge be kept between us until the General announces it."

"A bit late for that," the Carpenter piped up.

"Half the town's been talking about it." I blinked. I'd only been spreading the news for a little under an hour! The bannerman gave a short glance toward the cloudy sky. We couldn't see Big Brother at the moment, but it felt very close to noon.

"Perhaps it won't matter much anyway. He intended to announce it when everyone was gathered at noon."

"What are the ages?" Mularet asked.

"You're not taking the untalented, are you? Not to an active war?" He shook his head.

"Eighteen to twenty-five, and of course, all volunteers and prior veterans are welcome to return at their prior ranks, provided age or sloth hasn't taken too strong a root in them. We won't reject any untalented who volunteer, but we're not encouraging it." I watched Mularet visibly relax. Both Eysee and Elsee were sixteen, and neither of them would be called. His friends' sons and daughters, like me, wouldn't be so lucky.

"I'll drink to that," Mularet replied.

'Now, unless my eyes are playing tricks on me, you're going to need to get that arm looked at again, Mera." I blinked and craned my neck to look at the bandage. It hadn't exactly soaked through, but the wound had certainly split open during my ill-advised kick of an armored soldier, and the subsequent manhandling. Adrenaline and fear had dulled the sensation, and it was strange to look at the dark red bandage and not feel the pain I knew should be there.

My heart was still racing from the crowd, the thrill of ending the argument at least somewhat peaceably, and the knowledge that I'd managed to do at least something to help Pretyr and Owinda. I glanced over at the two of them. Owinda was finally calming down, and Hadra was next to Pretyr, having just handed him another of the bandages she'd been carrying. He was holding it to his nose and telling Owinda everything was okay. He spotted me looking at him and nodded.

He'd held up amazingly well considering he'd just been the subject of a fucking mob, and now he seemed none the worse for wear, save a bloody lip and bloodier knuckles. A brief, niggling thought crossed my mind that felt like poison in my stomach.

'What if he is a spy?' I hated it. I hated the suspicion the moment it crossed my mind. Sure, we'd never known each other well, but he'd been here for over a decade. He'd gotten Tacurian citizenship. Dad had traded wheat for lumber with him for years, usually whenever Travis wasn't around.

"I had best see to this group of idiots' punishment. Take care, Elmerina of Pemolar's Hill. I expect great things. Get that arm looked at."

"You'll see great things," I boasted proudly, preening under the expectations, inwardly wondering if there was still any way for me to get out of town.

"Tell my uncle I said hi!" If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"I expect you'll see him before me," he said with a chuckle, before he turned back to the group of soldiers. Rather than face the still considerable wrath of the townsfolk, they had all taken an unusual interest in the soldier's broken nose. I turned to Mularet. Travis and Uraleka approached too, the latter carrying a bandage, and staring at my arm in irritation.

"So… uh. Th-thank you. All of you." I let my voice rise a little to encompass the entire crowd. They were beginning to disperse, the drama over and done with, but I managed to catch Burnom's eye and send a smile to him. That was the third time the lout had stood up to confront threats to people here. Twice to myself alone. I was beginning to think there were hidden depths to the man. He still needed dried apricots to help him face himself. So weird.

"Mera… just… what the hell, kid?" Uraleka asked.

"They were beating Pretyr just because he's originally from Eschal. It was fucking bullshit. So… I tried to stop them. Didn't get very far. Thankfully, I've got you guys to back me up!"

"Your mother isn't here, so I'm going to say what she would if she were. You stupid brat! You're going to get yourself killed. You won't always have your village behind you, Mera! You didn't make any friends there!" She held out her hand, gesturing for me to lend her my arm so she could apply a new bandage. I did so, and winced as she began undoing the bandage for me. The blood had begun to seep into the shirt. I was pretty sure Uraleka had made this one.

"Sure I did," I said.

"At least half of those soldiers were only there for peer pressure, and I think the High Bannerman likes me. That's two High Bannermen looking out for me! All I gotta do now is win over the general and it's smooth sailing for Elmerina Soldier!" I did my best to hide my terror, and apparently did a pretty good job.

"Mera. Please, take this seriously. I know they've begun to call it the Everchore, but the rift front is not a joke. Especially not with an active enemy splitting our attention," she scolded. I sobered. Did… did she really think I wasn't? What did she think I was doing!?

"Do you really think I'm not taking this seriously, Aunty Ura?" I asked, somberly, with a hint of irritation. She balked, surprised by the sudden shift in my voice." Do you think I enjoyed sticking up for those assholes!? My uncle told me about the draft this morning. I was going to skip it, but I certainly don't have a choice now. I chose to warn everyone I could so they could get away if they wanted to. I… I don't want to see this place, or anywhere else like it, get attacked again. We were lucky. So lucky.

If that messenger hadn't come. If Dad's talent hadn't…" I trailed off, unable to voice the lie to my best friend's Mother.

"My talent works by getting to know people. The moment I got involved with that lynchmob, those assholes became people I'm going to have to rely on. I need every ally I can get. This isn't joking. This is me at the most serious you've ever seen me. Okay?" The wound had indeed reopened, but it was still healing pretty well. She bandaged it back up as if she'd been born to it, and the tightness felt firm and solid. As good as any Normuran could do. She sighed.

"Sorry. I just can't help seeing you as the little girl you were five years ago." I smiled before glancing over to Hadra, who had rushed to lend a bandage to the bleeding soldier. She kept looking back at me. Uraleka lowered her voice.

"This… feels wrong. Why aren't you taking Captain Retham up on the Duchess's orders? A quick word and you could be off to the city with Hadra instead of down to war and blood and the fucking rift." Right. Uraleka's husband had died during the Summer.

"I… have my reasons," I said. Going to the rift ran many of the same risks that going to the Duchy did. I'd be around people who might wish me harm and who might have skills that could determine my talent's true rank. Legendary talents started wars. But… hadn't one already started? Before, Denarla might've killed me rather than deal with the fallout of my continued existence, but now, with Eschal and the Rift Break, there was a chance they'd parade me around as a deterrent.

Then they'd quietly kill me after the war was over, but till then, I had time to build. It seemed I didn't have much of a choice, though. Perhaps I could've stayed hidden before, but not anymore. One way or another, I was leaving Pemolar's Hill. Go with Hadra to deal with the whims of nobles who cared more about fancy clothes than their people dying, or go with Reid and face the problem directly.

Hopefully the rest of the army proved to be more like my uncle and Lieutenant Berkenem, than Maulander and Sergeant Haminal.

"I truly hope they're good ones," Uraleka replied, as she wrapped me in a hug. The crowd had truly dispersed now, the soldiers walking off towards their camps on the western end of town, leaving most of us to get back to whatever we'd been doing. I'd managed to tell everyone that I knew, and the rest of the people in the age range for the draft were probably already at the bar. Knowing the folks from Mitoras as I was beginning to, most of them were probably already volunteering.

They were livid with the destruction of their town and the deaths of many of their family and friends. Those who weren't too injured anyway. Without warning, a horn sounded over the town, coming from the general direction of the bar. The same horn that had signaled the arrival of the brigade. Only one sharp call. It must be noon, and that meant it was time to bring our harvests to the army. It was hard not to be resentful. All of our work and toil would leave no profit for us.

Instead of full bellies we'd be half starved, scrouging for scraps. Twenty percent was barely enough for the town to survive. No money to commission new benches for the lab. No new attempts to make concrete because we wouldn't be able to afford any more limestone for me to experiment with. No partner for Stoutgruff like we'd been considering. The crowd began to shuffle towards the bar. The slow walk of a condemned people.