Chapter 3
As promised, in the morning they were roused by a casually dressed man with a thick mustache. He introduced himself as Colonel Gorrest, the man in charge of their base. They were shown to fresh clothing and a prepared breakfast. He explained that these luxuries were to be short-lived. "You will learn to wash and mend your own clothing, your own armor," he said precisely, though his tone was not harsh. "You will collect and prepare you own food. You are responsible for your own health and hygiene. There is staff available should any serious problems arise. Keep in mind, however, that your decisions and abilities are constantly being monitored. You are to be self-dependant, but we also want you to learn to help your peers."
Here he paused, and fixed them all with a strict gaze. "You are not in competition with each other. If one of you is expelled, you will not be replaced. Remember that it is in your best interests to take care of each other: one less man now means one less man on the battlefield. You will learn to trust and support your comrades, or you will all fail. This isn't a junior training camp--we're not here to play."
After the complete tour, they were allowed to go off on their own: training would not begin until early the next day. Chesta and Gatti explored the base together, checking to see how much food was stored, and where more could be acquired: there were woods facing the base's western side, and fields on the north for growing vegetables. "These look like they'll be ready for harvesting soon," Chesta commented, bending over a row of tomato plants. "But I've never farmed before--I don't know what the best time is."
"Neither do I," Gatti admitted. "But it looks like we'll have to put up something to keep the animals away--a lot of these plants have been eaten down."
"I wonder what kind of game there is around here…?" The younger brushed himself off and looked toward the woods. "I've never hunted, either."
"I have. And I do know a bit about preparing animal meat."
They wandered back to the barracks, and joined several of the older boys, who were discussing the possibility of a chores chart. "We can split up into groups, which rotate once a week or so," suggested Maddick Belano, a dark-haired boy with glasses. "Some to collect food, some to cook it, some to clean after meals…."
"There's twenty of us, so we can make four groups of five people," said Vicha Delekku, one of Chesta's old squad-mates. "Weekly rotation sounds like a good idea."
Chesta thought of something, but hesitated, wondering if he had any right to speak among these older boys. Gatti caught his eye, and seemed to understand. "We should figure out who can do what," he suggested in his friend's stead. "That way there's not an entire group of people who can't cook."
Lusha Luvere, the blonde who'd joined their transport from the same squad as Dilandau, laughed openly. "Good idea, kid. That would be a find mess."
"We should also take age into consideration," Vicha murmured. "Some of us are very young." He noticed Chesta and added, "No offense."
"That's fine." Chesta sighed internally in relief, glad that his idea had been expressed and acknowledged. He shot Gatti a thankful smile, and received a faint nod as recognition.
That night a meeting was held to determine everyone's strengths and weaknesses, and to split up groups for the chore chart. Maddik and Vicha led most of the discussion, while a foreign-looking boy Gatti's age kept meticulous notes. Chesta noticed that Dilandau was looking especially interested in the goings on, though he did not attempt to take charge. He also saw that the albino was dressed quite differently than the rest of them: long sleeves, a high collar, and gloves despite the heat. He must have some story behind him. But what? How did someone so fragile-looking make it this far?
The groups were set: Chesta was with Gatti, Dallet, the elder Muro brother Aldit, and a young noble named Millitio Oak. Their first duty would be to clean the barracks and kitchens after meals, a task which none were looking forward to. However, they accepted with minimal complaining. Chesta was glad not to have been assigned to the first hunting party, as they had yet to determine what animals inhabited the forest.
Lessons began on schedule. Early every morning the elder boys would move down the barracks, rousing each other from bed. They would change and report to the different training rooms, beginning what was now a routine set of exercises and drills. They were trained in hand to hand combat as well as swordsmanship, archery, and guymelef control--however, there were no real melefs to pilot, only practice contraptions. Everyone took to their chores well, to the relief of the elders. The hunting team that returned reported seeing traces of only small bush animals in addition to the deer they'd caught--the venison was delicious, even with mere amateurs cooking. Soon, even Chesta was looking forward to his first hunting experience.
Three weeks passed. Chesta lay awake in bed one night, his eyes lazily tracing the pattern of bedsprings above him. He'd grown accustomed to this life. The independence which at first had seemed daunting was now enjoyable. Even the training failed to exhaust him--though he was being worked much harder than before, he was seeing the results of that work more easily. He was even keeping up with the older boys in terms of technique, if not in strength.
That night he noticed that Gatti was still awake, sitting up in bed as he stared at what looked like a small piece of paper. Chesta watched him. Though they had grown into fast friends over the time spent together, there was still much they didn't know about each other. The elder didn't seem as excited about their elite standing as the others. And now, he almost looked lonely.
Chesta sat up. "Gatti? Are you okay?"
Gatti flinched, and glanced up sharply. He sighed. "Oh, Chesta. I didn't know you were still up."
"Are you all right?"
"Huh? Sure." He waved the paper absently--it looked like some sort of photograph. "Come have a look."
Chesta seated himself on the edge of the bed and peered at the photo: it was a black and white picture of a young, dark-haired girl with soft, charming features. He smiled. "She's pretty. Someone you know?"
"Sort of. Remember when we went into town to get tools?" Gatti glanced away in embarrassment. "I…stole it."
"Stole it? Why?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Just…I saw her father take it, and…." He trailed off, frowning.
Chesta regarded the boy with a puzzle expression. "Do you like her?"
Gatti's cheeks flushed red, and he sputtered on a response. They were interrupted by someone chuckling on the next bed over: Miguel Lavariel. "So Gatti's got a taste for older girls?" he laughed.
"Cut it out," Gatti retorted. "It's not like that."
"Oh really? Looks like it."
"There's nothing wrong with it." This new voice belonged to the boy on the bunk above Miguel: Viole Rainen. He was a soft-featured boy with waves of violet hair, who looked more like a young girl. He was smiling amusedly.
"Stay outta this, Viole," Miguel said with a grin. "You shouldn't be defending him--you don't like girls anyway."
Viole "hmphed" indignantly. "So?"
Gatti and Chesta laughed, and a moment later the other two joined as well. Several other boys glanced over, made curious by the sound. Once they'd settled down, Gatti changed the subject. "You two are in Dilandau's group, aren't you? What's he like?"
"Dilandau?" Viole repeated. "Why do you ask?"
Before he could respond, Miguel interrupted. "Don't mind Viole. He's the only one who hasn't noticed how weird Dilandau is."
The accused boy "hmphed" again. "Everyone's a little weird. He's no different."
"Does he ever take those gloves off?" Chesta asked curiously.
Miguel frowned. "So, you noticed that, too? He only takes them off when we prepare the food, and when he does, he looks nervous."
"Like he doesn't want anyone touching him," Chesta murmured thoughtfully. "He's always covered like that."
"You don't think he's got some disease…?" asked Gatti warily.
"I don't think so," was Miguel's reply. "He never hesitates in training. He can't be sick."
Chesta pursed his lips as he tried to puzzle the mystery out. "Maybe…he's paranoid?"
"Maybe he's cold," Viole added from above. "You guys. You automatically assume it's something incriminating--why don't you just ask him?" And with that he rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets over him.
Migeul made a face up at his bunkmate. "Ask him?" he muttered. "Who's he kidding? Dilandau practically bites anyone who questions him." He turned back to the two blondes. "One thing's for sure--he's a natural soldier. We came form the same squad, so I know how good he is. I don't think even that big guy, Vicha, could beat him in an all out fight."
"He's that strong?" Chesta asked in wonder.
"Naw--he cheats. Fights dirty as a devil." He stretched out on the bed, indicating that he was ready to sleep. "But then, it doesn't surprise me."
Chesta frowned; he'd hoped to talk a bit more, but Miguel already looked half asleep. His questions would have to be answered later. "Well, I guess we should sleep, too," he said, moving back to his bunk.
Gatti nodded as he shoved the photograph under his pillow. "Remember we've got food-preparing duty tomorrow."
"Of course." He slid beneath the covers. "Goodnight."
"Yeah, g'night."
Chesta sighed, turning his gaze again to the bunk above him. "I decided." I wonder…was Dilandau right? Is he more important than we realize? What is he anyway? These questions followed him into sleep.
Early the next morning Chesta's group was excused from training to attend to the gardens. They had no complains: weeding, after all, was much easier than sparring with the colonel. They had just finished when Viole came running from the direction of the forest. "Good, you're here," he panted. "Wee need some help carrying the meat back. Follow me." Without waiting for a response he started back the way he'd come.
The group exchanged baffled looks. Aldit, the eldest and leader, scowled. "Who the hell do they think they are? We've got work to do, too."
"Yeah, but we all have to eat," said Dallet. "If you and Millitio finish up here, Chesta, Gatti and I can go help."
The blonde boy shot him an annoyed look, and snorted. "Sure, whatever. But you'll get more work tomorrow, okay?"
Gatti caught Chesta's eye and made a face. "Sure thing, Aldit," he muttered. Then he and the other two boys headed off after Viole.
"Hurry up," Viole urged from the line of trees. He led them down the crude path, humming to himself all along. "We got a baby Dorris," he explained finally. "It's too big to carry--we'll have to cut him up and carry the chunks back."
"A Dorris?" Dallet echoed incredulously. A full-grown Dorris was almost twenty feet high and weighed around 5 tons. Even the younglings were difficult to kill: though the oxen-beasts were rather slow, few hunters could get close for fear of being trampled by its holves.
Viole nodded vigorously. "Isn't it something? Dilandau got right up under it and slit it's throat. After that, it was easy."
Pretty soon the stench of blood thickened in their nostrils. Chesta covered his face, as it was somewhat nauseating. He was amazed by how far the smell traveled--they had to walk for five more minutes before coming across its source. The Dorris was, as Viole had said, still barely an adolescent, laid out in the middle of a small clearing. Still, the heap made by its carcass was taller than Chesta. All around the grass was trampled and stained crimson; the amount of blood was sickening.
"There you are!" called Miguel. He was standing on top of the corpse, covered in its blood but grinning foolishly. "What do you think? Not bad, huh?"
Dallet ran up to him, and the pair began to chat excitedly. Gatti joined them a moment later, trying not to look at the huge red stain. The other members of the group were already setting upon the meat: the eldest of their group, Befis Nullo, and a young, scrawny kid with curly hair.
Chesta hung back. He'd seen blood before--just never this much. He diverted his gaze and tried to think of something else. That was when he spotted Dilandau, leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree. The boy had been soiled even more completely than Miguel--from head to toe, almost no inch hand been spared. He was now using a broad leaf to clean his face of it, which may have only spread it further.
Chesta gulped, staring at the stained albino. Dilandau appeared perfectly calm--even pleased, as if unaffected by the seriousness of the task he'd completed. To kill a Dorris of any size was considered an accomplishment--they would be praised when they returned.
What is he anyway? He's no older than me--how can he do these things?
Gatti, Miguel, and the others were swarming over the kill now, carving into its thick hide. Again Chesta gulped. He knew he should be helping them, but his hands were shaking slightly. The blood smell was overpowering.
"Stay here," Dilandau said abruptly. "You can help carry when they're done, but don't go yet." Though his voice was flat and unchanged from his usual tone, there was something else hidden within: he knew that Chesta was uncomfortable, and he didn't scorn him.
Dilandau…. Chesta licked his lips, watching the boy carefully. He wanted to question him about the Dorris, but then he remembered the last time he'd spoken to Dilandau. He won't want to talk to me. I'm nothing compared to him, to what he's done. Even so he sat down with a thud. But I've been here for three weeks and still Gatti's my only friend. Dilandau doesn’t look like he has any. Maybe…. "So, is this, um, the first Dorris you've killed?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Dilandau stared at him, as if offended at having been spoken to. But then Chesta looked more closely into that expression, and saw that the boy was searching. He was wondering about something. He turned his gaze back to the Dorris. "Yes."
"Was…um…was it hard?"
"Not until after."
Chesta frowned, not understanding what he meant by that. He debated with himself as to whether or not he should question further. Before he knew it he was asking, "Were you scared?"
Dilandau didn't respond right away. He was still staring at the carcass, his gleaming red eyes covered by a strange glaze. "I've…never killed anything before," he whispered, and a strange smile twisted his lips. Despite the oddity of that expression, Chesta could see that it was trembling. The boy was frightened. "It feels…strange. All this blood…."
Chesta gulped and didn't know what to say. But he held onto his courage, if only to keep his mind from the steaming corpse not twenty feet away. "We'll clean it off once we get back," he offered. "I'll…find you some fresh clothes."
"…All right. Thanks."
He smiled, feeling a bit better. Dilandau's face had grown strong again--somehow, he'd helped. The thought that he'd done some good for his peer gave him pride. He was searching for something more to say when Dilandau's head jerked up suddenly. Chesta followed his gaze to the Dorris.
The curly-haired boy had leapt away from the kill suddenly, and was babbling in a language no one understood. Viole took him by the arms, trying to calm him, but he kept ranting, pointing emphatically at the forest.
Dilandau climbed to his feet and moved onto the scene with all the superiority they remembered. Chesta followed uncertainly. "What's going on?" the former demanded. By now everyone had stopped working, and was watching the frantic boy in confusion.
"Something's wrong with Guimel," said Viole, looking distraught. "I don't understand him."
"Ki-wven!" the boy exclaimed, trying to break out of Viole's grasp. "Ki-wven mitaly gott. Mitaly trush, helli ki-wven trush! Ki-wven mitaly gott!"
Chesta's body went cold at those words. There were servants in his old master's home that had spoken in the Northern language, and some of the words stood out to him as being familiar. No, that can't be it. I must be wrong.
"Guimel, calm down," Viole tried to comfort the youth. "Speak sense."
Dilandau glanced in the direction of Guimel's crazed pointing and paused, his eyes narrowing. "Something's out there," he murmured, turning toward the line of trees.
No. No it can't be what it sounds like. Desperate to prove himself wrong Chesta grabbed Guimel to get his attention. "Ki-wven?" he repeated. "You're sure it's Ki-wven?"
Everyone stopped to stare at him in shock. "You understand him?" Dilandau said sharply.
Chesta lifted his hand to plead for silence. Guimel was watching him, his eyes wide,
trembling. "Ki-wven," he
stated, making sure that his voice was crisp so that no mistake would be
made. "Mitaly gott. Allic?" In the forest. Now?
Guimel nodded vigorously, seeming to get a hold of himself with Chesta's help. "Ki-wven mitaly gott allic."
"Well?" Miguel asked from the Dorris.
"Can you understand or not?" added Gatti.
Chesta gulped, turning to face the others. "It's…a dragon," he said tremulously. "A land dragon is coming."
The boys stopped to stare at each other. Dilandau was already unsheathing his sword, gazing at the edge of the clearing where already a sour stench was beginning to emanate from. "It's already here."
