The Pulver Chronicles – 22. To A Mystic Land That No One Else Has Seen

From what Jackson had seen on the maps, the Vertrisian region covered an area about the size of the state of Maine. About two thirds of that was covered by forests, and the remaining third by mountains. At the center of these mountains was the Silver Crown, the Southern Marches’ highest peak. The Silver Crown was so named for the snow-capped irregular circle that was its top. When Jackson had looked at the high mountain for the first time as he was tracking the hunting party, Byron had ventured a guess that it was a dormant volcano.

Due to its height, the Silver Crown was used as a landmark by travelers in the vicinity, although very few of them actually entered Vertrisia. Jeros and his caravan used it in the same capacity as they journeyed through the woods. The eastern portion of the forest seemed denser than the western one, its canopy so thick that Jeros regularly sent one of his men -the Goblin- climbing up the trees to find out in which direction was the peak.

“Why not use a compass or something?” Jackson asked Jeros.

“Many people made that mistake before,” Jeros simply answered.

More than a little weirded out, Jackson did not question this further.

As they ventured deeper in, Jackson realized this part of the forest wasn’t just denser, it was also confusing. The path they followed, which Jeros alone seemed to know, didn’t make sense: at some point, Jackson could swear they had taken two left turns, which should have meant they were going back. Yet they still appeared to be heading west, as attested by the fact that the Silver Crown was still in front of them, according to the Goblin. But maybe it was Jackson’s own senses playing tricks on him. That would explain why he was almost certain to have spotted the exact same boulder three times in a row. It had to be the same boulder: the shape, looking roughly like a monkey’s head, was very distinctive. He shared his observations with Byron.

“We already knew the Elves were protecting their land with magic,” the veteran said, who confirmed he had seen the same things. “Now we know how.”

“And we know why Jeros won’t use a compass,” Jackson said. “Geeze, and I thought I was going nuts.”

“Well, give it some time,” Byron said. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Literally.”

“Something amusing?” Sathariel said.

Jackson realized he had chuckled at Byron’s quip. “Just thought of a joke.”

“Well, I’m glad you can laugh in this setting. Me, I feel like the trees themselves are watching me. Somehow, it’s even worse than when we were seeking Alizana.”

Jackson had to agree on that one. Back when they were looking for Alizana and her tribe, it was only the Hellhounds he had to worry about, and he was reasonably certain he could talk his way out then -which he did. But this time, it was like the very woods had become a threat. Something lingered there, something that Jackson couldn’t consciously perceive, but that rung several alarms in his subconscious. Maybe it was another effect of the Elves’ magic, some kind of humane repellent, like when Mrs Dorsett used hot pepper spray to protect her kitchen against ants. Or maybe it was purely psychological. Those woods were certainly thick and dark enoug to give someone ideas.

The strange journey continued in almost complete silence. No one in the caravan felt like singing anymore. Many didn’t even feel like talking. When they did, it was mostly to exchange short comments on their surroundings. After they took six sharp right turns in a row -and yet somehow still appeared to be going straight-, one of the caravaneers, a Human in the same age range as Jackson and Sathariel, openly wondered if Jeros knew what he was doing. Jeros responded with a short chuckle. This did little to assuage the Human’s worries. Jackson heard him whisper to the Goblin:

“How do we know he’s not leading us into a trap? Maybe he’s planning on killing us all so he doesn’t have to pay us. Maybe he sold us out to the Elves.”

“If you believe that, you can always turn around and go back,” the Goblin said, who sounded just as worried in spite of his snark.

The Human looked above his shoulder, and, from his expression, it was clear he realized he had no idea how to go back. Several other caravaneers had the same realization, and so did Jackson. If this was indeed a trap, it was now far too late to get out of it. He glanced at Sathariel, and saw the fear in his eyes.

“We’re going to be okay,” Jackson said. “If this guy had made a habit of coming back alone, he would have had a reputation for doing so in Gunully.”

“I suppose so,” Sathariel said.

The group arrived at a glade. Jackson sighed as he saw the sun again. There was something intuitively relieving about seeing its light shining on the grass, the flowers, and the stones. It was certainly a welcome departure from the gloom of the forest. The young man noticed that the aforementioned stones, all standing and at least ten feet high, were arranged in a circle. Not only that, but they were decorated with carvings. He got closer to get a better look. These carvings were precise and delicate, with depictions of Humanoids -Elves, most likely- surrounded by what looked like runes. Jackson instinctively raised his hands to brush them, but Jeros said:

“Wouldn’t do that.”

“He’s right,” Byron said. “This looks like it serves some kind of religious purpose. I doubt the Elves would take kindly to a stranger messing with it.”

“Yeah, good point,” Jackson said. “Could be cursed, too.”

Jeros ordered his caravaneers to set the camp, even though it was only the middle of the afternoon. Everyone settled down, enjoying both the opportunity to rest and the warmth of the sunrays.

“Now what?” Jackson said to Jeros.

“Now we wait.”

“Are the Elves coming to meet us here?”

“Hmm-hmm.” He stuck a pinch of tobacco in his pipe and lit it.

“How long will they take?”

Jeros shrugged.

“Okay then…” Jackson said. “Guess I better get comfy.”

The grass-covered ground was warm and soft. Jackson crossed his arms under his head, and gazed at the clear blue sky. After a moment, Sathariel followed his example. They simply laid there, side by side, without moving or talking, letting the summer sun melt their worries and soothe their muscles. Then, the Demon pulled out something from his pocket. It was one of the dried leaves the caravaneers had been chewing on during the journey.

“What’s that?” Jackson asked.

“It’s dried myuca,” he explained, splitting it and offering one half to Jackson. “It grows in the Silver Steppe and on the Coppertop Plains. We usually use it in balms and poultices, but it’s also good as a snack between meals; it kills your hunger. Remember not to swallow.”

“Uh… Why not?” He placed it in his mouth and chewed cautiously.

“It numbs the tongue and the throat, and makes eating difficult for a while. Not to mention, it decreases your sense of taste if you’re not used to it.”

“Sounds like this world’s equivalent of tobacco,” he thought-said.

“I’d say more coca than tobacco,” Byron said.

At that remark, Jackson stopped chewing, and discreetly spat the leaf out. As he turned his head to do so, his attention was caught by two of the caravaneers. It was one of the Humans and the female Orc. They were standing in front of the stones, and talking in a low voice. The Human seemed a bit excited, while the Orc was visibly skeptical of whatever he was saying. Jackson focused his hearing on them, trying to drown the rest of the noise, including Sathariel’s light snoring.

“… actual Elvish runes,” Jackson heard the Human say. “… not modernized Elvish… very rare.”

The Orc shrugged. “So?”

The Human became more excited, and thus a little louder: “… know how many people would pay to see these? Precious few in the Empire or the Marches have ever seen actual…” He turned to look at the runes. “… coin to be made.”

Uh-oh, Jackson thought. He shot a look at Jeros, who was also taking a little nap. Right. Guess for the first time in my life, I’m gonna stop someone else from doing something stupid.

He jumped on his feet as the excited Human pulled out some kind of paper and a piece of charcoal, evidently wanting to create a copy of the runes by rubbing. The Orc went from skeptical to anxious, and whispered something to the Human, who simply shrugged with a smirk. She insisted, the warning clear in her voice. The Human scoffed, and began working on his copy.

Merely a second before his sheet of paper touched the stone, a sound like a crack of thunder rippled through the clearing, waking the forest and shaking the caravaneers. There were shouts and screams among them. The Human dropped the paper and the charcoal, his face now deathly pale.

“It’s Leunnya!” the Orc yelled, glaring at him.

“He offended the forest spirit,” another said.

The name echoed through them like a terrible curse. Two Humans and the Goblin picked up their weapons, and searched the treeline for any sign of presence. But the forest looked as empty as it did a minute ago. Jeros looked both angered and afraid; he glanced at the culprit and shook his head.

“Jeros!” the guilty human called out, shaking with all of his limbs. “I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“You were warned,” Jeros said tensely.

“T-Tell him I wouldn’t- Please, I-I…”

Jeros didn’t make a move, nor said anything, merely shook his head again, this time not in exasperation, but in resignation.

Jackson was the only one who wasn’t scared, although his heart was beating fast. Because he knew that the noise hadn’t been thunder. And it certainly wasn’t a forest spirit either. A warm light birthed in his heart.

“You heard it too, didn’t you?” he thought-said to Byron. “That was a gunshot!”

“Yes,” Byron said. “Yes, it was.”

The Human who had tried to copy the runes fell on his knees, his arms raised in supplication, his anxious sweat mixing with his fearful tears. His face had lost all color. Well, damn, Jackson thought. If Leunnya doesn’t kill him, the heart attack will. With a little smile, he decided it was time for another performance. He stood before the distressed man, facing the direction from which he believed the shot had been fired, and called out:

“O, Leunnya, powerful protector of the forest, hear my prayer!”

“What in the world are you doing?” Byron said.

“Ain’t it obvious?” he thought-said. “I’m saving this guy’s ass by putting my ass on the firing line.” Out loud, he continued: “This poor man didn’t mean to defile your place of worship. In truth, he meant to study these runes, so as to understand them. He wished to better honor the Father of Trees and the Mother of Seeds, as he is walking on their sacred lands. His fault is not malevolence, but ignorance. As such, I beseech you to spare his life.”

The speech was, of course, just a bunch of nonsense he had come up with on the spot, and told as dramatically as if he was a thespian; the part concerning the Father of Trees and the Mother of Seeds came from something Alizana had told him some time ago. Everyone around was now looking at him like he was crazy or suicidal, especially Sathariel. He didn’t blame them. For all they knew, Jackson had just put his life at stake to save someone else with a specious argument.

What they didn’t know is that he wasn’t expecting his little tirade to work. The words he had said didn’t actually matter. What did matter was the fact that he was most likely in Leunnya’s sight -or rather, Leunnya’s scope.

The clearing was silent for a while, save for the heavy breathing of the caravaneers. The silence dragged on, until Jackson heard Sathariel gasp in surprise. A silhouette had just appeared in the treeline, moving without a sound through the bushes. It was either a Human or a Humanoid, wearing a long, green, hooded, cape that reached down to their ankles. As they got closer, Jackson noticed that the green of that cape was from the multitude of leaves and blades of grass sewn or glued onto it; it was like the medieval equivalent of a ghillie suit. A mask also colored with various shades of green obfuscated the bottom half of their face, up to the underneath of their eyes. There was a long object on their back, which was covered by a cloth in the same colors, but was undeniably -to Jackson at least- a rifle. Squinting, Jackson could even see the strap.

Moments after the stranger had appeared, three other Humanoids came out of the trees, also moving in complete silence, tall, thin silhouettes seemingly popping out of nowhere. They were armed with bows about as long as they were tall. They too wore masks and used camouflage outfits, though not quite as elaborate as the first person’s outfit.

Jackson stared intently into the stranger’s eyes, trying to jog his memories. Was it really…? Then, the stranger spoke, and all doubt cleared away from his mind.

“Very well, Human. I will spare your friend’s life this time. If you have been deceitful, however, or if he tries again to touch our sacred stones, I shall kill the both of you.”

In spite of the threat, Jackson had to repress a chuckle. He could tell from the tone that the “stranger” was also playing a role, and quite enjoying the dramatics. The caravaneers, however, were clearly in awe.

“We humbly thank you, o Leunnya,” Jackson said, bowing his head.

“Yes, yes,” the offending Human blubbered, dropping on the ground in supplications. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“It is not me you should thank,” the stranger said. “If you truly were attempting to worship our Father and Mother, then you may redeem yourself by offering your earthly possessions at the feet of the sacred stones.”

“Ah… Yes, yes, of course.”

Jackson once again struggled not to laugh, both at the Human emptying his purse with shaking hands, and at the sparkle of amusement in the stranger’s eye. The stranger turned back to his people, and nodded at them. The other newcomers approached, and Jeros came to meet with them, apparently to start trading.

“Let’s move away so we can talk,” the stranger whispered to Jackson.

They moved on the other side of the cairn, hidden from the others’ sight. The stranger  hooked a finger in their mask and pulled it down. Jackson let out an exclamation of joy as he recognized the face of Bonnie Gardner, and threw his arms around her.

“Yeah, all right, all right,” she said, patting his back.

“Can’t believe it’s really you!” he said. “I mean, I knew it had to be you, but…”

It was strange, in a way. Bonnie and Jackson had never been more than friendly acquaintances back in their time in the US Army. Yet, seeing her in this place, after all this time, was like meeting with an old friend. It took him about a minute to finally release her.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive, Pulver,” Bonnie said. “I thought those fucking zombies had killed everyone else.”

“I knew you were still kicking,” Jackson said. “When I couldn’t find your body out there, I knew you must have found a way to survive.”

“Thanks to Woods,” she explained. “We fought our way out of that forest. At some point, he tripped and hurt himself real bad. I tried to carry him out, but he insisted on staying behind to cover my escape. He gave me his rifle.” She sighed. “Hell of a day, wasn’t it?”

“Tell me about it.” The young man’s mind went back to that terrible day. The zombies, Lawrence, Byron, the necromancer…

“How did you get out?” she said.

“A few bullets, a lot of luck… And thanks to Lawrence and Byron. I’d be dead without them.”

“Who’s Byron?” Bonnie asked, confused.

“Oh, uh… The lieutenant. You know, the one who led the second team.”

“Ah. And, since they’re not here, I’m guessing he and Lawrence…”

“Yeah,” Jackson simply said.

“Damn.” She shook her head. “Did anyone else make it out alive?”

“Actually, yeah. Dave did.”

“David Schultz? Is he with you?”

“No, I… I don’t know where he is. I only found out he’s alive because I had this shaman find him with his remote vision thing. He couldn’t locate him; apparently, Dave’s protected. I tried to find you the same way, but that went nowhere.”

“You tried to scry me?” Bonnie said, amused.

“I guess? If that’s what it’s called.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t work for anyone in these woods. Our magic is powerful, and we have a lot of wards in place to protect us from that kind of intrusion.”

“Our magic?” Jackson repeated. “You’ve got magical powers now?”

“Well, not really. I just have the wards and the blessings the shamans give me.”

“Oh. I was almost jealous of you for a second.” He leaned back a little to take in Bonnie’s accoutrement. “So, you’re part of the Vertrisian Elves’… uh, tribe? Clan?”

“Both, actually,” Bonnie said proudly. “First, I joined the Onawato clan, then I was made a member of the Walalaë tribe.”

“Awesome,” Jackson said. “I mean, I guess it is. I have no idea what that actually means.”

“The Vertrisian Elves are divided into nine tribes, which are themselves made out of nine clans. Err…” She bit her lip. “Don’t ask me to name them all. I’m supposed to have learned them, but… I mean, that’s eighty-one names, and they’re all super complicated.”

Jackson chuckled. “So you became one of them. I’m guessing that’s not as easy as submitting a form.”

“Hell no. In fact, if I had gotten there only thirty years ago, they wouldn’t have given me the opportunity to join at all. Up until recently, you had to be born in the clans to be a part of them. They recently decided to be a little more flexible, but you still have to jump through a bunch of hoops to get in. And it’s still an Elves-only club. They’re not that progressive.”

“What kind of hoops?” Jackson asked. “I’m kinda picturing something like the boy scouts, with badges to collect until you can make a sash. Did you have to gather a whole bunch of bugs?”

Bonnie laughed. “You’re not far off. I had to get some special herbs for the shamans at some point. Though I’m pretty sure that was more hazing than anything else. Actually, I got pretty lucky with my initiation, they didn’t put me through most of the usual stuff.” With a grin, she added: “Saving the lead hunter’s life sure helped.”

“I bet it did. How did you do that?”

“When I got in the forest, looking to find the Elves, I got kinda lost. Well, more than “kinda”. It took me three days until I understood that I had to climb a tree to find out where I was really supposed to be headed. Anyway, one day, I do just that, get on top of some oak tree -I think-, and I hear some people screaming. So, I get down, grab my rifle, and run to them. When I get there, I see a dead Elf, and another one on the floor, being attacked by the meanest-looking bear I’ve ever seen, trying to fend him off.”

“So you shot the bear dead, and saved the Elf’s life,” Jackson said.

“Sure did. One hollow-point bullet, right through the skull.”

“And, let me guess, the guy you saved thought you were some kind of forest spirit who had slayed the beast with the power of thunder.”

“Err, that would have been cool, but no. He immediately guessed that what I did was not magic. You have to understand that the Vertrisian Elves are raised among shamans and tribe chiefs. They know magic, and they know what isn’t magic. Real magic would have been scaring the bear away, controlling his mind and making him do my bidding, stuff like that. Still, Yaena -that’s the guy I saved- was pretty impressed that I could kill a bear in one shot, and really grateful that I saved his ass. So he led me to his clan, and offered me the opportunity to join. I took it.”

“Weren’t they unhappy that you killed a bear? I mean, like, it’s part of the forest and all.”

She blew air from her nose. “We’re Elves, dude, not hippies. Killing is just part of nature. Hell, that bear had killed one of our numbers.”

“Gotta admit, that’s a pretty impressive story,” Jackson said. “What did you have to kill to become part of the tribe, then? A dragon? Wait, do dragons exist?”

“If they do, they don’t live in this forest,” Bonnie said with a shrug. “But, no, I did not have to kill anything for that.” Smiling, she added: “I just had to marry into the tribe.”

“Wow, congrats. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Yaena.”

“Figures saving his life got you laid,” Jackson said, smirking. “No offense, though, but wasn’t it pretty quick? I mean, how long have we been in this world, four months?”

“Five next week. Sure, it was kinda quick, but when you know, you know, right?”

Five months? “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What about you, Pulver? Where have you been all this time?”

“Call me Jack. And I’ve been in Atvello.”

“I had you pegged for a city slick,” Bonnie said teasingly, placing her rifle over her shoulders.

“Hey, I had to go somewhere!” Jackson laughed. “The money I got from the necromant’s bounty wasn’t going to last me forever, so I had to get a job, and there was no way I’d be a farm boy again.”

“Wait, necromant’s bounty? Hold on. You’re the “brave hero” who defeated that necromant in duel, after slaughtering many of his undead minions?” Her tone was one of disbelief, like she was being told Santa Claus was actually real.

“Shit, you heard that story too?”

“We’re not completely cut off from the outside world, Jack. So it’s true, then?”

“Err… Broad strokes,” Jackson said. “I killed the necromant, but it wasn’t really a duel. And I only killed like, five or six zombies. Eight, tops.”

“Still, that’s pretty impressive. How did you do it?”

“Good ol’ fisticuffs. Then I jabbed a dagger in his eye socket.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” She had a distant look all of a sudden. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just… It feels weird to speak English again after all this time. Hope I didn’t get too much of an accent.”

“English?” Jackson frowned, confused. “I’ve been speaking nothing but English since I got into this world.”

“No, you…” A light shone in Bonnie’s eyes. “Oh, right. You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Jack, you haven’t been speaking English at all when you talked to the people in this world. Didn’t you think it was weird that they could immediately understand you when you talked? And vice-versa?”

“I mean, I did, but I figured it was some kind of weird magic thing.”

“Well, it was,” Bonnie said. “My tribe’s shaman explained it to me after I joined.” Her eyes swiveled left for a second. “Okay, so here’s what happened in a nutshell: we traveled to this world through a portal. The magi who created the portal -probably that necromant you killed- did so using souls. And a side effect of using these souls is the Laläethua.”

“The what?”

“Läe- Laläethua,” Bonnie repeated, fumbling on the word. “Blah. Basically, the power to gain the knowledge those souls once had. It’s the Elven word for “infused knowledge” or something like that. Really hard to translate classic Elven into English.”

“So… Those souls the necromant used spoke Imperial, and that’s why I can now speak Imperial.”

“That’s the short of it, yeah.”

“Why did the necromant open that portal, though?”

“No clue. I’m not sure he meant to do that, actually. My shaman thinks it may have been a side effect of raising all those zombies. Like, getting them back from the world of the dead opened a door to another world, something like that. Maybe the necromant just had no idea what he was doing.”

“He did seem surprised to see us,” Jackson remembered. “Okay, well, mystery solved, I guess. Is that how you can speak Elven?”

“Ha, I wish!” Bonnie exclaimed. “No, I had to learn the old fashioned way. Not many Vertrisian Elves speak Imperial. And those who do usually prefer not to. It wasn’t easy for me, at first. Classic Elven’s a really hard language to learn. Like French, but with an even more confusing grammar. But after months of speaking nothing but, I got the gist of it.”

“Like they say, nothing beats practice,” Jackson said.

Something Bonnie had said resonated in Jackson’s mind. It’s really been five months? So that means… The months here are about as long as the one on Earth, and we were in February when we left… He held that thought as he saw Bonnie peek over his shoulder and frown. Jackson looked as well, and noticed Sathariel standing a few feet from them. Apparently, he had been standing there for some time, and was watching their conversation with obvious confusion -and a hint of fear.

“Do you… Do you two know each other?” Sathariel said.

Jackson wondered if it was worth trying to deny the obvious, but decided he wouldn’t lie to his friend. “We’ve met before.”

“You’ve met Leunnya,” he said, incredulous. “Wait, but you said you never came to this part of the forest before.”

“I didn’t. Ah… Remember when I told you I served in an army? That’s where we met. We were in the same unit.”

“Your mysterious army from some country I supposedly never heard of,” Sathariel said, the disbelief clear in his tone.

“Yeah, that one.”

“What kind of army enrolls in the same unit a Human and… She really is an Elf, right?”

“Yup. But she wasn’t born here. She’s from the big city.”

“Dude, spill all my secrets, why don’t you?” Bonnie said. “Tell him Leunnya the forest spirit is allergic to penicillin, while you’re at it.”

“What, am I ruining your forest cred? Spoiling the myth?” Jackson chuckled. “Don’t worry, Seth can keep a secret. Right, Seth?”

“Yes, of course,” the Demon said. With a light dose of sarcasm, he added: “Especially secrets I can’t make sense of…”

“Seth?” Bonnie repeated.

“My real name is Sathariel, but he calls me Seth, and I call him Jack. Or Mad. I guess I should call him Mad more often, actually. Did I just see you stand between a man and certain death?”

“Relax, Seth,” Jackson said. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? It was a calculated risk.”

“Gotta side with Seth on this one, Mad,” Bonnie said, inflecting the nickname with a little smile. “That was pretty gutsy, what you just pulled. What if I didn’t recognize you?”

“You’ve got your scope. I was, what, a hundred feet away? And we served almost two years together. Even if you couldn’t make out my face, I’m sure you’d remember my voice.”

“What I do remember is the sarge’s voice shouting your name when you did something really stupid. Guess nothing has changed.”

“Stupid? What about the guy who tried to make a tracing of some possibly-cursed runes? Me, I saved his life, and I’m unharmed. Like we said in the army: if it’s stupid but it works, then it ain’t stupid.”

“I think you said something like that to the sarge, once,” Bonnie said, “and she said: “if it’s stupid but it works, it’s still stupid and you got lucky.” Then we all had to do push-ups.”

Jackson scratched the back of his neck. “Heh, yeah.”

Bonnie glanced at the rest of her group through the standing stones, and sighed. The Elves and Jeros were engaged in a lengthy talk. Jackson couldn’t hear a word of it, but from the body language of both parties, neither seemed close to an agreement.

“Looks like it’s gonna take a while,” Bonnie said. “It always does.”

“Is Jeros a tough negotiator?”

“I guess, but mostly it’s my tribe that knows they’ve got the upper hand in the haggling. There’s quite a few traders who’d like to get some of our stuff, but not many Elven clans who are willing to sell.”

“What are they selling by the way?” Jackson asked.

Bonnie’s eyes swiveled left. “Mostly dryadelle. Some foodstuff, a few leather-made clothes… People love our elk leather, apparently, but we don’t hunt many elks. I mean, they love dryadelle even more, but it’s a pain in the ass for the Dryads to make a lot of, and not many people can afford it anyway.”

Jackson ran a hand on his dryadelle vest. “Tell me about it.”

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Ninety-five gold oxen for the vest, the pants, and the cape.”

“Ninety-five?!” Bonnie balked. “Damn, your tailor made a nice profit.”

“He did?” Jackson grumbled. “Figures. Anyway, what do you trade all that stuff for?”

“Mostly for steel. We try to buy it in the form of ingots, but most traders prefer to sell finished products because it’s worth more.”

“Steel? Can’t you make it yourself? I was told you had some iron on your land.”

“We do, mostly in the mountains, but not much of it. Probably doesn’t help that much of the mountains are sacred; my people would rather bash their own skulls than dig into sacred land. What little iron we do have, we use for simple stuff, like tools and such. Even then, we prefer to use other metals.”

“What about weapons?”

“They’re not really a priority. In fact…” She put a hand under her cape, and retrieved an arrow from a hidden quiver. She showed the head to Jackson.

“Bronze,” he said.

“Yup. Almost as good as iron, but heavier. Real hassle to shoot straight with those.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Jackson tried to think of a way to find a segue to his own trade offer without sounding too heavy-handed. Before he could find one, Sathariel said:

“I didn’t know you speak Elven, Jack.”

“Well, actually, I don’t.”

“But she…”

“We’re speaking English. It’s- That’s a long story. Say, Bonnie…” He looked around him to make sure no one else was listening. “Do you know about the people living in the western side of the Vertrisian Forest?”

“If I know about them! Some clan leaders won’t stop complaining about folks squatting there ever since they got here.”

“Oh,” Jackson said. Not a promising start.

“Yeah, they say we should drive them out of our land, and nevermind that we never actually lived in that part of the forest. Some say it’d be legitimate defense, kinda: we have to attack them before they attack us. Apparently, those people already sent some scouts into our side of the forest.”

“Not scouts, they were hunters.”

Bonnie did a double take. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“All right,” Jackson said after taking a deep breath. “I’ve been living with those people for some time now. In fact, I’m kinda here on their behalf.”

He waited for Bonnie’s reaction. She merely said: “Okay.”

“They want to trade with you guys. Well, actually, that was my idea.”

“Trade. All right, I guess… What do they want to trade?” She seemed cagey.

“Mostly weapons they recovered. And pelts. They’re pretty good hunters.”

“So are we. Not sure we need much help as far as that’s concerned.”

“Well, err… More is always better?” Jackson said. Sathariel and Byron both gave him a look. Yeah, I know. Not the best argument.

“I guess there are more boars on the western side,” Bonnie said. “We mostly have elks on ours, and like I said we don’t hunt them much. Okay, so what do they want in exchange?”

“Tools. Building tools, cooking tools… You don’t happen to make grills, do you?”

“We do, as a matter of fact. We make them out of copper, like those French chefs on TV.”

“Oh, thank God!” Jackson sighed. “I thought I was doomed to never eat grilled steaks for the rest of my life. Bad enough I can never have a pad thai ever again…”

Bonnie laughed. “Tell me about it! No kebabs, either. My folks only use goats for milk.”

“What about chicken?”

“Only for eggs. We’re not vegetarians, we just can’t afford to kill our livestock; we only have so much of it.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, well, uh… Look, I’m not making any promises, but I’ll tell my clan chieftain about your offer. Other clans might be interested too. For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good idea. We’re basically neighbors.”

“That’s what I said!” Jackson said. “Plus, with the war coming soon, we’ll have enough enemies already.”

Bonnie’s eyebrows went up. “Soon ? Jack, you haven’t heard? The war has already begun.”

“What?” Jackson said, a heavy weight dropping in his stomach.

“It happened about a week ago. Hexacrat troops crossed the Western Mountains through the pass of Aurus Colles.”

“Goddammit.” He massaged his chin. “How do you know this?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on the border. If the Hexacracy takes the Southern Marches, we’ll be next on the chopping block. We can’t expect any help from the Empire; there’s no way they’ll accept our independence.”

“Yeah, we’re in the same situation,” Jackson said. “We should be allies in this.”

He had hoped for that offer to be brought more subtly, and maybe after some time had passed and the two peoples had already been trading, but apparently time was against them.

“Maybe,” Bonnie said, her eyes swiveling to the left again.

“Look, it makes sense,” Jackson insisted. “You guys want independence from the Empire and the Hexacracy, but neither of them will grant it to you, so that means you’ll have to stand up to both. It’s the same thing for us.”

“I guess, but… What are you guys, exactly? My clan’s shaman tells me you’re deserters from the Hexacracy, but he doesn’t seem to know any more than that.”

“Well, that’s part of it.” He cleared his throat, and continued: “It’s kinda complicated… and secret. I’ll tell you about it some time, if you come by our camp, and promise to keep it to yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Bonnie said.

“It’s… Look, I promise we’re not bad people. All we want is to be free.”

The sniper slid her rifle, still wrapped in its clothing, down at her side. She leaned her head back, biting her lower lip. One of the other Elves signaled her, using his fingers to make some kind of sign.

“Seems like we’re wrapping up,” Bonnie said. “Given how pissed Awinaeta looks, I’d say your trader got a good deal.”

“So will you talk to your people?” Jackson said.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“About both offers?”

She nodded. “I’m almost certain I can get them to agree to the trade. If nothing else, it’d be less of a hassle than trading with Humans. The alliance, though, I don’t know.”

“Just put in a good word for us, that’s all I ask.”

“It might be easier to put in a good word if I knew who I’m putting a good word for.”

“I get it,” Jackson said. “We’ll talk. I promise.”

Bonnie sniffed, then shouldered her rifle again. She signaled to her people, then held out her hand to Jackson, who shook it.

“It was nice to see you again, Jack. I’m really happy to know you’re still around.”

“Same here, Bonnie. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

The traders prepared to leave again, leaving their merchandise behind in the grass. Just as Jackson began to wonder how the Elves were going to bring it back with them, another Elf appeared, leading three horses by their reins. Bonnie turned to leave, then spoke to Jackson again:

“Actually, if you want, I can guide you back to your side of the forest.”

“Really? That sure would beat having to do the whole detour again. Hey, and I could introduce you to my folks, too. Start our relationship on good terms.”

“Yeah, all right. I guess it would also be an opportunity to see the stuff you have to trade.”

Jackson went to say his goodbyes to Jeros, who barely paid attention to him over the profit he had made. Meanwhile, Bonnie talked with her comrades, who gave her one of the horses. She, Jackson, and Sathariel then left, towards what Jackson assumed to be the west, though in that forest it was really anyone’s guess.

Much like Jeros, Bonnie seemed to know the way without the use of any instrument. She looked confident and relaxed as she made her way through the trees, which Jackson found particularly notable as, according to her, she had only been living there for a few months. Months! That thought that had invaded his mind earlier reappeared, but Jackson pushed it back for now.

Riding by his side, Sathariel harbored an expression Jackson recognized.

“You look like you have about a thousand questions to ask,” Jackson said. “Go ahead, out with it before your head explodes.”

“I do, but you may find them a little too personal.”

“Ah, come on, Seth. I met you under an assumed identity, saved your life, then led you to live among a tribe of wolves-chicks. And then, you saved my life. I think it’s safe to say we’re best friends now. No such thing as too personal between us.”

“All right, then…” He thought for a moment. “Hmm… Ah, yes. How long have you known Leunnya?”

“Been a little over two years, now,” Jackson said.

“I see. And that country you both come from, how far away is it?”

“Very far. Like I said, you couldn’t find it on a map.”

Bonnie took a turn left; the group followed suit.

“Right, but…” Sathariel tried to reformulate his question. “How long did it take you to come to Varda? A week? A month? A year, maybe?”

“He’s suspecting something,” Byron said.

Yeah, he is, Jackson ruminated, more for himself than for Byron. All right, then.

“Actually, it took a few seconds. Maybe even less. Honestly, we didn’t even notice we had traveled here.”

Bonnie cast him a look over her shoulder.

“Uhm, what?” Sathariel said.

“It was some kind of portal, apparently,” Jackson said. 

The Demon’s eyes opened wide. “You were portaled… from another continent?”

“Oh, Seth, don’t act stupid. You know it wasn’t another continent. We come from another world.”

“Really?” Bonnie said. “You’re just gonna tell him that?”

“What? You told your shaman. Probably told your husband too, I bet.”

The Elf sniper harrumphed, but didn’t deny it.

“By the Armilus, you…” Sathariel swallowed his saliva. “You’re not joking, are you? I mean, I knew it had to be something like that, but… Wow.”

“You’re damn right “wow”,” Jackson said with a smile.

“So those strange weapons you use… They come from this other world too.”

“They’re called firearms. And yup, they’re some of the things we brought.”

“That’s incredible,” Sathariel muttered. “I heard of portal magic, but not a single magi I have met knew how to use it. Many thought it was pure superstition.”

“Heh. In our world, most people think magic is pure superstition,” Jackson said.

After that, Sathariel all but pummeled Jackson with questions about his world. What was it like? How big was it? How different was it? How many people were there? Had Jackson traveled around that world?

Jackson tried to answer all of those questions the best he could, but he found it rather difficult to describe a completely different world to someone who knew nothing of it. In fact, several times, Jackson had to confess his ignorance. Such was the case with his explanation of how firearms worked, given that Jackson himself knew little about that. Nevertheless, Sathariel listened with fascination, and sometimes a little skepticism. He had a hard time believing that there were over five billion inhabitants in Jackson’s world, for instance; the number was simply too big for him to comprehend. The young Demon’s interest peaked when Jackson brought up the subject of automobiles. The ability to travel over long distances at high speed, in particular, seemed to appeal to him. Jackson almost felt bad when Sathariel asked him whether such vehicles could be built in this world, and he answered in the negative, causing the Demon’s shoulders to slump and the excitement in his eyes to dim.

The conversation then went back to firearms, and then to war. Sathariel snorted in disbelief when Jackson brought up nuclear weapons, and explained how they could wipe an entire city off the map. The disbelief turned to quiet horror when Jackson told him the fate of Hiroshima and Nagasaki -with help from Byron, as Jackson got a few details wrong. The subject of war in the other world then led to talking about the war in this very world.

“So it’s happening then,” Sathariel said. “We all knew it would eventually, but I kept thinking we would have more time.”

“Me too,” Jackson said. “I guess the vacation is over.”

“You mean you’re leaving?” The Demon looked shocked.

“No, of course not!” Jackson hesitated, then asked: “Why? Do you want to?”

“I- No, I don’t. I probably should, but I don’t. For one thing, I have nowhere to go, as you know. And for another thing, I… It’s strange, really, but… I’ve known the Hellhounds for a few weeks, and yet somehow, I want to fight alongside them. I believe I would do so even if I had an alternative. Does that make sense to you?”

“Someone I know would say that’s just because you’re young and idealistic. But I say yes, it does make sense. Maybe because I’m young and idealistic.”

The doubt that slumped Sathariel’s shoulders seemed to evaporate. A moment later, however, a shadow of gloom washed over his face.

“It’s still hard to believe we are at war,” he said.

“I get that,” Jackson said.

“That seems too early. I mean, when I left, the armies were still preparing. I heard several generals complain that they were still waiting on many conscripts to fill their ranks. The Archdemons were tired of waiting, I suppose. They already have enough men to outnumber the imperial army, after all.”

“Numbers aren’t the only factor in a war.”

“Well, I certainly hope not,” the Demon said, a quiver running through his body. “However many we are, we certainly number less than either army.”

Jackson clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”

“How are we going to do this, Jack? Face two armies!” The gloom was turning into fear. “I mean, I understand why we’re doing this, and I understand why we have to. But I don’t understand how.”

“Maybe they’ll defeat each other.”

“Is that your plan?” Sathariel asked.

“It’s part of it,” Jackson said. 

This wasn’t true. The truth was that, as usual, he had no real plan. He never did. But this time, he was determined to come up with one.

“What about the other parts?” Sathariel said.

Jackson licked his lips and thought about Byron, and his role in all of this.

“Another long story?” the young Demon suggested.

“Aren’t long stories the best?” Jackson said.

“I prefer them short, as a matter of fact. And ideally, with a happy ending.”

“I’m working on that.”

They arrived at the Neha camp the next afternoon, having camped in the forest overnight. Jackson introduced the tribe chieftain to a stupefied Bonnie, who was clearly meeting a Hellhound for the first time. Thankfully, she managed to get past the initial shock and have a cordial conversation with Alizana. One of her tribemates eventually offered to give her a tour of the camp, including the storage tent. Sathariel remembered he had some chores to do, and left Jackson alone with his thoughts. Well, with his thoughts and with Byron.

“Something’s been on your mind,” the veteran said. “What is it?”

Jackson took a deep breath. He went to the corral to make sure Florid was still fitting in nicely with the other horses.

“We’ve been here five months,” he said.

“Time flies,” Byron said.

“Yes, but also that means we’d be in the month of July, back on Earth.”

“Right. And?”

“My birthday is June 29th.”

A horse got near the enclosure. He had a gray mane and several flies were buzzing around him. Jackson gave him some of the whiteberries he had picked on the way back.

“And what? You’re sad because you missed it?” Byron said.

“Nah, that’s fine. I’ll make some time to celebrate eventually. No, but… I’m twenty years old now.”

He fed the gray horse another berry, then patted his head.

“I’m officially no longer a teenager. Although technically, I’m still not an adult. I always found that weird.” He sniffed the evening air. “It’s kinda funny, actually. I used to tell myself that my twentieth birthday wouldn’t mean anything. That it was just an arbitrary milestone. I mean, I’m still the same person at twenty that I was at nineteen, you know? At least, I think I am.

“And yet… And yet I can’t shake this feeling that something’s changed. Like, a page has been turned or something. I mean, a part of my life is over. Now, there’s a new chapter about to begin, and… I’m not sure what it’s gonna be like, but also I’m not even sure what I want it to be like. Does… Does any of that make sense?”

“It sounds like you’re having a mid-life crisis at twenty,” Byron said.

Jackson smiled, amused at the quip. “Mid-life? Shit, I hope not. Although, I never really wanted to become old and senile. You need a good brush, don’t ya?”

That last part was meant for the horse, who was indeed dirty and had his mane filled with knots. It looked uncomfortable. Jackson decided to take care of the animal, if only to keep his mind busy. He went back to the camp, and after a careful search in the storage tent, managed to locate a brush that would do the job. Then, he filled a bucket with water from the river, and entered the corral.

Grooming the horses had been one of the activities he hated the least back when he lived on the Dorsett’s farm. He had always found something relaxing in the simple act of brushing and cleaning their hair. The fact that the horses seemed to enjoy it as well made it all the better, naturally. And it certainly was a lot better than cleaning out their stalls -it was unbelievable how much these animals could poop in a single day, or how foul it smelled.

Of course, back on the Dorsett’s farm, Jackson used a larger array of tools to do the grooming. Properly tending to a horse’s hair required more than a single brush: there was the classic dandy brush, the soft brush, the curry comb, and even a specific comb for the mane. Jackson only had the one brush -which sort of looked like a dandy brush-, but he was confident he could make do.

The gray horse remained entirely calm as Jackson put on some reins on him and tied him to a post to make sure he would keep still. The young man began to brush him, starting at the neck and working his way up the rump. As he did, he talked to the horse, affecting a low, soothing voice, like Mr Dorsett had taught him. The dirt stains didn’t come off easy; evidently they had been there for a while. But the combination of water and persistence was tried and tested.

About half an hour later, Jackson was just about done with the gray horse -whom he had decided to name Ghost. As he was putting the finishing touches, another horse approached him. It was Florid.

“Ah, right. Sorry, buddy, I should have started with you.”

Florid snorted, with Jackson interpreted half-jokingly as an expression of jealousy. He freed Ghost, and got started on Florid. It was easier and quicker, owing to the fact that he had been taken care of more recently. Then, Jackson decided to take care of the next horse, a big one with orange hair and a dark orange mane. And then the horse after that. Before long, he had made up his mind to care for all of the tribe’s horses. Why not?

He had to change the bucket’s water after the seventh. As he did, he noticed someone was watching him work. It was Alizana. She was leaning over the fence, a brush in her paw.

“Hey there,” Jackson said. “Didn’t know you guys owned two brushes.”

“A lot more than two,” Alizana said. “All this fur on our bodies doesn’t straighten itself, you know.”

She jumped over the fence in one swift move. Jackson’s eyes wandered over her fur. It did look like it would require a lot of work: there was plenty of it, and it was rather lengthy. And  thick. Jackson wondered how it felt to the touch; it looked like a wolf’s fur, but thicker. I wonder how deep I could stick my hand in it.

When she arrived at her side, he realized he had again been staring, and that she definitely had realized that as well. But once again, she said nothing, so Jackson didn’t feel any embarrassment over it. Nor did he stop, as a matter of fact.

“You seem to have experience with that,” she said as she began grooming the horses as well.

“I lived on a farm; I did all kinds of little jobs. Fixing stuff, caring for the animals, bandaging wounds, cutting hair… I even repainted the barn once.”

The two of them moved on to another horse, this one a creme-colored mare with  particularly dirty hooves. Jackson named her Fancy.

“I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Alizana said as she lifted one of the mare’s legs to cure her hoof.

“It’s cool, I like horses.”

“I meant concerning the Elves. That woman that came with you, erm…”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie, yes. She seems to believe this trade can happen, and that it will be mutually profitable, which means it may work in the long term.”

“I also talked about a potential alliance with her, but she wasn’t as confident.”

“Yes, we discussed that as well. From what I understand, for such an alliance to be made, enough of their clan chiefs must consent to it. This will take time, and…”

“Right, time’s running out,” Jackson said. “The Hexacrat armies have moved south. Do you…” He paused for a second, pretending to focus on a stain on fancy’s neck. “Do you think they’ll come down here?”

“Not immediately, no. I expect they’ll have castles to besiege and towns to capture first. But they can’t ignore us. Eventually, they’ll come for us.”

Fancy became agitated, possibly responding to Alizana’s stress. Jackson calmed the mare with pets and a good dose of his soothing voice.

“I’m doing all I can to prepare us,” she went on. “Rallying as many tribes as I can contact, training my hunters, gathering as much equipment as I can. I just…”

She finished cleaning out Fancy’s tail and untied her.

“I just don’t know that it’ll be enough.”

Alizana whistled another horse, who came trotting. She seemed particularly familiar with this one, a large rouncey with dark gray hair.

“For the first time in years, my people have tasted freedom. We live by our own will, and no one else’s. But now the war is coming to us, and if I haven’t done enough to protect us, that freedom will have only lasted a moment.” Her jaw tensed up. “Some would say that’s enough, as it is more than many people get…”

“That’s bullshit,” Jackson said bluntly. “Why the fuck should you be happy with just a second of freedom? You should want more, of course you should. And the costs be damned.”

“Oh, I completely agree, make no mistake,” Alizana said. “But the theory is one thing. To put it in practice is another entirely.”

Fancy’s agitation came back. Jackson finished her grooming and sent her away, then turned to Alizana. Her eyebrows flickered with tension, and she was holding her brush so tight Jackson wondered if it would break. He put his hand on her paw; her fur was soft and warm under his fingers. That gesture surprised him and Alizana both, but neither moved away.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said. It felt like a cliché, but he meant it.

“We?” Alizana said, turning her head to look at him.

“Thought I made this clear by now: I’m in. So’s Seth.”

“You did, but I still don’t understand. You do not owe us, you little even know us. Why would you want to fight for us? Why would you want to die for us?”

“Well, I’m hoping it won’t come to dying,” Jackson joked. He dropped his smile when Alizana didn’t return it. “It’s just… It’s just the right thing to do, you know?”

“And that’s it?” she said, incredulous. “Don’t think of me as ungrateful, but it’s hard for me to believe that anyone can be that selfless.”

Jackson pondered his answer. “Look.” He sucked on his teeth. “I get what it’s like to want the freedom to live your life the way you want. I’ve been… Well, I won’t tell you I’ve been through the same thing, because I haven’t. Not even close. But I’ve been through something similar. Not comparable, but similar.

“I’ve never known my parents. I have no idea whether they didn’t want me, or if they died after I was born, or something. So, all my life, I had to live with foster families. And… Well, it was pretty clear that none of them really wanted me. I mean, I was never abused or anything, but I was treated like I was just a chore to my foster parents, and nothing else.

“I went from family to family, and I made my life the way I was told. I studied what I was told to study, had the hobbies I was told to have, worked the jobs I was told to work. Anything I did outside of that, I was punished for. Hell, I even got punished for loving the wrong damn girl.

“The day I turned eighteen, I ran away and joined the army. It was my choice, but at the same time it didn’t feel like much of a choice, you know? It was either that or… Actually, I don’t even know. Pretty sure my last family would have kicked me out if I hadn’t left.

“The army wasn’t any different, which isn’t much of a surprise, of course. Although, I kinda feel like I had more freedom under my drill sergeant than I had with my last foster family -but that says more about them. Still, I was told when to wake up, what to eat, what to do, even how to make my goddamn bed and clean my fucking boots.

“God, I had to travel to a different fucking world to finally experience freedom.”

“Different world?” Alizana repeated.

It was by no means an accident that Jackson had mentioned that; he wanted her to know this. It was time to rip-off that band-aid. He succinctly explained to her what he had told Sathariel the previous day. She seemed even more stupefied than the Demon had been, but nonetheless accepted what Jackson said, stating once more that he didn’t smell like he was lying.

“That’s a really weird gift,” Jackson commented.

Alizana shrugged. “Continue your story.”

“That’s pretty much it actually. I had to come here to be free. And there’s no way I’m going back. So, yeah, like I said, I get it. I haven’t had it as bad as you guys have, but I get it.”

Another horse came without being called, apparently tempted by the prospect of a good grooming.

“Well, I can’t guarantee that we will win this war,” Alizana said, “but I can guarantee you this: among us, you will be free. And…” Lower, she added: “You will not be unwanted. Among us, you will have a community.”

That last sentence birthed an odd feeling in Jackson, both painful and soothing. A community. He dropped his hand holding the brush, making the horse turn his head, wondering why he had stopped.

It was at that moment that this simple, sad, and almost stupid truth hit Jackson: he had never truly belonged anywhere. Not in any of his foster families, not in the US Army, not anywhere in his world. He had found a place among the Children of Nayros, who in fact considered themselves to be a family, but it didn’t feel quite right. For one thing, in order to fit in, he had to keep his past -a good portion of his identity- hidden; such was the rule: no asking about the past. And while Jackson understood that rule, it still stung him, somewhat, that he couldn’t truly be himself with them. Jowallan alone had given him the opportunity to open up… But Jowallan was gone.

Jackson had never truly realized how much he wanted a place to belong, a community in which he could fit in without changing or obfuscating any part of himself. Yet it appeared that Alizana had guessed that after knowing him for over two weeks and listening to his story. Or maybe she smelled that too, he thought with humor.

“Really?” he said, his voice a little hoarse, and not from the effort of grooming all these horses.

“Of course. I told you you could become a member of my tribe, and I meant it.”

For some reason, it was only at this moment that Jackson noticed how close he was to Alizana. They had gotten closer as they worked on the horses, close enough that their shoulders touched and their arms occasionally brushed. As he thought, her fur felt like that of a wolf, but a bit rougher.

The fleeting moment of loaded silence between them was over before Jackson had realized it was there, interrupted by the horse snorting. Apparently, he was getting impatient for more brushing. Alizana cleared her throat and got back to work.

“Imma call you Princess,” Jackson grumbled into the horse’s ear. “And, yeah, I know you’re a dude.”

It was past noon when they were finished. All of the horses were much cleaner and seemed happier for it. All of them now had names, too, including those that had recently been captured from the hunting party and had yet to be named. Jackson had a quick lunch, then decided to take a walk to the river. Byron, whom Jackson hadn’t seen since the day before, appeared there, standing on a rock and peering down the water. Dourness marred his expression.

“So you’ve made your decision, then,” he said.

“I made it a while ago, actually. I’m pretty sure you know that.”

“Yes, but I figured you’d change your mind. That it was just some passing craze, and that you would soon focus your short attention-span on something else. That seemed in-character for you.”

“Well, what can I say?” Jackson said with a chuckle. “I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“At least not physically,” Byron deadpanned.

“I need to know you’re in it with me, Byron. I can’t do this without you.”

“In it with you.” He scoffed. “Well, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Byron, I don’t want to drag you into this, kicking and screaming -well, kicking and lecturing, more like. God knows I’ve already dragged you into lots of shitty situations. But you must understand, I’m going to do this. I have to do this, I just have to.”

“So what’s your point, here? It’s going to happen no matter what, so I might as well get on with the program?”

He sounded more bitter than usual -which was saying something-, and Jackson had a pretty good idea why. The young man had talked about how he had led his whole life along others’ say-so, but the fact is that Byron had never had much choice in his fate either. Jackson had seen in his memories that he had become a soldier mostly to make his family proud, believing then in the primordial importance of filial duty. Later, he entered special ops and left the country, in no small part to get away from his family, who had disowned him for what he did in regards to his father’s dark deeds. Then, there had been this whole thing in Sakha.

And finally, he had been sent to this world where he was killed, and now he found himself tethered to Jackson like a dog on a leash. What he had wanted had simply never been a factor in this complicated equation.

“No, that’s not my point,” Jackson said. “Look, I know you’re stuck with me, and it sucks. And I know my judgment has not been the best so far. But don’t let that color your decision in this case.”

“What does that mean?”

“Come on, Byron. You want to do this. I know you do.”

“Oh, really,” Byron said. “And why is that?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Byron scoffed, and reported his attention back to the water, apparently to put an end to the conversation. But Jackson insisted:

“Mock all you want, but I know this matters to you. It always has. Sure, you surround yourself in all that cynicism, all that sarcasm, all that sourness, like an armor. But beneath it, you still want to do what’s right. That’s why you testified against your dad and sent him to prison. That’s why you went to Sakha.

“But, sure, doing the right thing has done you no kindness. And that’s what made you… you. I’ve been in your memories, Byron. I’ve seen what happened to you, but I’ve also felt what it’s done to you. I know that when your father, the man you wanted so badly to make proud, turned out to be a monster, it hurt you. I know that when your whole family turned against you for sticking to your principles, it wounded you. And I know that when you were told to abandon Kara and her child –your child-, and you knew you would never see them ever again, it broke you. It broke Madison Charles, and so you rebuilt yourself as Byron.”

“That’s a low blow, Pulver,” Byron said, whose mouth had twisted when Jackson mentioned Kara.

Jackson grabbed him by the shoulders to force him to look him in the eyes. “But he’s not gone, is he? Madison Charles is not gone. He’s still in there, and he hasn’t given up. He still wants to do what’s right, for Kara, for all of his father’s victims, and for himself.

“Your family hurt you, Sakha broke you, and the necromant killed you, but you’re still there. You’re here now, in this place, among these people. To me, this means something. I don’t know if I believe in God or fate or stuff like that, and I don’t know if you do, but I believe you’ve been given a second chance. Don’t you see it?

“Together, we can do this, Byron. You did this before. You know all about war, tactics, and guerrilla. You can help the Hellhounds gain their freedom. We can do this.”

Jackson had gotten more than a little emotional at the end of his tirade. He stopped to take a breath. Byron didn’t react at first, but then he pushed Jackson’s hands off him.

“Nice little speech,” he said. “Did you turn twenty or twelve?”

“Byron-”

“You really believe the world is that simple, don’t you? That it is like those movies you used to watch where the heroic resistance faces off the evil empire and wins by sheer strength of will. Here’s something you need to learn, now that you’re closer to being an adult: right does not make might. In the real world, brave, upstanding heroes can absolutely lose to evil, twisted bastards. And they do, nine times out of ten. Your Hellhounds will not defeat the Hexacracy and the Empire with moral principles.”

“They just want to be free,” Jackson said, his throat tightening.

Byron faced the river again, turning his back to Jackson.

“Wanting to be free does not win wars,” the veteran said, his tone now sharp enough to cut through bones. “It does not make up for logistics when they’re lacking. It does not gather intelligence in preparation for a fight. It does not keep battalions disciplined in the middle of battle. It will not turn the tide of a campaign should the enemy prove to have a better strategy. Wanting to be free won’t help you negotiate with potential allies or enemies, nor will it replace the weapons and equipment your troops will lose on the battlefield.”

Jackson stared at him, unable to talk. Each of these sentences felt like a dagger in his chest. He struggled not to lower his eyes. But then, Byron looked at him again, his lips stretched in what, on someone else, might have been a smile.

“But it’s a start.”

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