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The Accidental Rebellion, Prologue

Hippie · 2009-02-27T14:57:15Z

I believe this is the 3rd rewrite. Changed almost everything, including character's name. Enjoy. Eric’s teeth chattered. A stinging barrage of rain pelted his face, swept into the shelter by an icy gust of wind. Over the howling gale he heard the stakes holding up the roof creak as they bent to near breaking point. The feeling in his body had long been robbed of him by the cold. For that he was thankful. A bolt of lightning burst from the unforgiving skies, illuminating the camp. It blinded him at first, burning its image into his eyes. As it faded, for a split second he could see torrents of brown water cascade through the shelter, following the contours of the gullies they had eroded. The other bodies quivered violently as they pulled tattered blankets tightly around themselves. The night engulfed the last glimmer of light reflected from the sword blades in the corner, and it was dark once more. Then came the thunder. It started as a soft rumble in the distance, like waves crashing against rocks out to sea. The sound built, escalating into a pain inducing crack that drowned out all else. The sound lingered for a second, wavering, before slowly receding. Its echoes galloped away through the valley, until the last remnants had died. Now only the wind and rain spoke. Eric rolled onto his other side. In his mind, he cursed the officers who slept warm and dry in their spacious pavilions on the hillside. He shuffled to the side, moving away from a steady stream of water landing on him. Pulling the wet blanket as tightly around his thin figure as he could, he closed his eyes, and focused his mind on home. * “Wake up,” shouted a gruff voice. “Get up you lazy bastards. You march in half an hour.” Eric felt the real world rematerialise around him; the wind, the rain and the cold giving their regular cruel greeting. He sat up, still holding the blanket around himself. Through the dense fog he saw the faint outline of a man on a horse. The figure moved slowly through the shroud of mist, shouting threats that made the rain’s attempt to cause pain seem merciful. As if the cold had also numbed his mind, Eric remembered nothing of the previous night. Nothing but numbness. He slid out from under the blanket and crawled out from the shelter. He felt faint lumps of pressure on his knees as he crawled; bits of gravel submerged in the mud stabbing into him, but the cold took the sting away. With great effort, Eric pulled himself to his feet, sinking up to his ankles in the mire as he walked along the sodden track. The wind lashed against his body, fighting his attempt to make it to the ration post. Silhouettes moved through the camp, heads to the ground. As they came near their faces became discernable; misery in physical form. Then they would move on, and become enveloped in the fog once again. As Eric neared the ration post, these ghostly figures congregated in long queues, silently waiting for what they had learned to call food. Eric joined one of the lines. The huddled mass of people blocked out much of the chilling wind, turning its shrill cry into a muffled curse. The faces of those around him bore silent despair. The sound of a hacking cough broke the silence. It continued, escalating into wheezing gasps for breath. Eric felt himself being pushed as men shuffled away from the sick man. Once one caught something in this place, death was almost certain. Eric cast his eyes skyward as if searching for god among the ominous black clouds. Heavy drops of water pelted him on the face. They ran down to the tip of his nose, forming large droplets which dripped like water from a stalactite. The clouds above and the fog in front joined in the middle, leaving no gaps where a patch of blue sky or green horizon might promise hope. The clouds flickered as lightning bolts escaped from them, but with the heavy fog it was not enough to brighten the camp. Eric shuffled forward in the queue. Time was drawing on and he knew that there wouldn’t be enough time for everyone to eat before the battle. Not that he or anyone else cared all that much. They had resigned themselves to the fact that they would die; their much hated general had put them on the front line. A few of the luckier men wore light vests of chainmail that they had stolen, found or scavenged from a corpse, but the rest wore only what conscripts were issued: A grey shirt and trousers which gave no warmth, with a sleeveless leather vest that had a thin sheet of metal sewn onto the front, more a burden than a help. Finally reaching the front of the line, Eric held out his bowl, and watched as the man ladled out the sloppy liquid. It was a lukewarm slimy mash, made so from the constant cycle of heating and reheating. He only ate a little. Any more and he was sure it would come back up. He returned what was left to the pot for its next round of heating, remembering all too vividly the lashing one of his fellow conscripts got on the first day for discarding his leftovers. He had died from infection a week later. Eric pushed his way through the crowded camp back to his shelter, occasionally trudging through knee deep mud where the turbulence of feet and hoofs had turned the ground into horrid slurry. Two of the others in his shelter were on their knees praying. Eric joined them, kneeling on his soaking blankets. It was divine intervention of epic proportions that they needed, and that’s what Eric prayed for; A divine intervention that killed the general, the emperor, the emperor’s family and all other military commanders in the army. He wished nothing bad on the enemy, because they were merely defending their families and homes. The evil was on his side. “March to the battlefield,” shouted the voice of the herald who had awoken them. “Get a move on you maggots.” Eric crawled to the foot of his bedding and took the blunt, rusty sword. In his other hand he held his old wooden shield. He could feel the grooves where termites had devoured it scraping against his knuckles. He crawled out the side of the shelter, and waited for the pushing and shoving outside to subside. Sergeants in chain mail armour with crossbows rode through the camp, marshalling the conscripts towards the front line. Seeing one of them coming his way, Eric clambered onto the path, and was swept up by the disorderly rabble. The human tide pushed him to the top of a bare hill overlooking a swampy field. Behind them the sergeants rode, shouting threats and shooting anyone who complained without hesitation. If the wind had been strong in the valley, it was a hurricane atop the hill, near strong enough to blow a man over. It picked up the falling raindrops, and hurled them horizontally at the conscripts. Eric soon learned that there were also hailstones falling, as one grazed his cheek. He turned his head away to protect his eyes. Behind them he saw movement on the hillside where the officer’s quarters where. Among the fluttering banners and flags, some men were conversing. A moment later one of the climbed onto a horse and began riding towards them. The time had almost come. Eric turned away, looking back out onto the swampy battlefield below. Squinting through the fog and rain, He could just make out the opposing force moving into position. They looked to be a smaller force by far, but he knew they made up for it in skill and equipment. Their cohorts moved in an orderly formation. The conscripts on the other hand, were merely a quivering ball of fear. It was terribly wasteful tactics they were using, but the people high up saw the tens of thousands of deaths it would cause as a worthwhile sacrifice. At that time of year it rained nonstop where they were, and the emperor wouldn’t postpone the incursion until the dry season. The general couldn’t send armoured warriors running across the swamp as their extra weight would pull them down and drown them, and he wouldn’t put regular soldiers on the field unarmoured; so the burden fell upon the conscripts. Eric remembered being told it was an honourable task they were undertaking. The general had said that they would be remembered forever as the conscripts who won a battle against a superior equipped force. The emptiness of the statement had been blatantly obvious, but nobody dared speak out. Another hailstone struck his face, drawing him out of his nostalgic moment. He rubbed his stinging cheek with his fingers. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out all that was; knowing it was the last bit of peace he'd have until he reached heaven. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't block out the sound of men screaming and crying, or the fearful neighing of horses, or the feel of the razor raindrops that tore at his skin. Nor could he block out the smell of horse manure and tens of thousands of unwashed men. His body trembled, dreading the inevitable order to advance. That order came all too soon. The sergeants made the first move. Only once a few shots had been fired into the crowd did the conscripts begin moving. The men at the rear pushed and shoved, urging on the ones in front. Out of fear the conscripts picked up speed. The sergeants herded them across the marsh like sheep. Eric ran as fast as he could, wading through the knee deep water. Behind he could hear men who fell behind scream as they were trampled into the mud. Ahead men slipped and met the same fate. Eric felt his lungs burning with exertion and his heart raced. His legs became hot, and he felt the strength in them dissipate. He felt that he wouldn't have the strength to make it across the field, let alone survive the fight. He breathed fast and deeply, but the foggy air was little good. As they drew closer, Eric could make out a division of archers stationed on a grassy ridge behind the lines of soldiers, bows drawn. The sound of hundreds of twanging bowstrings announced the arrival of a swarm of barbed arrows. They thudded as they embedded into flesh, and splashed as they hit water. Ignoring the shrill screams all around him, Eric ran on with his shield above his head. The swamp turned red with blood, which spread out in patches around the floating bodies, some still clinging to life. An arrow suddenly appeared sticking out the back of the man in front of his' head. Blood sprayed up onto Eric’s face. He pushed past the dead man, wiping the blood off onto his shoulder. He flinched as another arrow landed in the water in front of him. The rain of death subsided, and Eric picked up speed, thinking that the danger had passed. A moment later, another volley of arrows bombarded them. His eyes widened as an arrow slammed into his shield, snapping off a piece of the rotten wood. His heart raced as he continued running. A sharp pain pulsed up his arm like no pain he'd felt before. Screaming, he fell into the water. As soon as his ears were submerged, the sounds of battle became muffled and distant. Through the muddy water he could see arrows stab into the ground. Feet ran past, stirring up mud where they landed. An arrow hit one foot, and a body came tumbling over, flailing around in pain. On the bottom lay countless dead bodies that had been trodden into the mud. Their faces were contorted with fear and pain. Water plants swayed too and fro, wrapping around the bodies as if they were consciously holding them down to drown. Eric broke the surface of the water, leaping high into the air. He made a loud noise somewhere between gasping for breath and screaming in agony. The moment of detachment where it felt as though his life may slip away ceased abruptly, and the sounds of death became vivid again. He stood there groaning and clutching his wound. An arrow had gone straight through the useless shield, and his arm, and was now protruding from a bloody hole on the other side. A few seconds later, an even worse pain smashed through his shoulder blade as a horse knocked him down, its hoof pounding him into the bloody quagmire. He felt his face squash into the gritty mud, which cut at his cheeks. Using only his good arm, he pushed himself up into a kneeling position. Tears streamed from his eyes as gripped the broken shoulder and clamped his eyes shut. The sounds and smells faded into obscurity, as his mind focused entirely upon the pain. When he opened his eyes again, the sergeants were ahead of him, dismounted and forming a line so that the conscripts couldn't flee. His vision was blurred from the pain, but not enough to prevent him from seeing his comrades being butchered. He clawed his way into a shallow section and knelt down. He felt a splinter of broken shoulder blade dig into his muscle, sending a searing pain coursing through his body whenever he moved. He felt faint from losing so much blood. Knowing he would have to fix up his arrow wound before he lost too much, he stuck his sword into the ground, pulled off the mangled shield and grasped the arrow. Gritting his teeth, he yanked it through. He felt the splintery shaft scrape against his muscle as it slid out, and he cried out in pain. He looked down at his arm and saw that blood poured out even faster now that the arrow didn’t obstruct its path. It gushed so fast that he could almost feel himself weakening as it drained from him. Thinking quickly, he tore off his shirt and wrapped it around his arm like a bandage, hastily tying off the ends. The blood soaked through, turning the coarse material from grey to red, but the pressure slowed the flow. "No, please have mercy," came a cry from behind him. He turned around to see a second row of sergeants marching across the swamp, killing off any fallen conscripts they found. Through sheer willpower, Eric hauled himself to his feet, his injured arm dangling limp at his side. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind as best he could, and fished his sword out of the water. He staggered forward to the first row of sergeants. One of them grabbed him and flung him into the melee, and he almost lost his footing. He cringed as an arrow landed at his feet. Another conscript's blood drenched him. He wiped his face with the back of his arm. Then a huge armoured warrior stepped forth to fight. Eric instinctively held his sword in front of his face as the man swung his heavy blade. The force of the metal clashing resonated up Eric’s arm, and he staggered backwards. He looked up, ready to meet his fate, but the aggressor had shifted his attention to someone else. He watched as this new victim had a sword shoved through his gut. When the warrior withdrew his blade, the man's innards hung out of the gaping hole in his belly. He fell to his knees, wide eyed and muttering incoherently as he tried in vain to put his intestines back into his body. He knelt there, blood and gizzards falling out of his body as life slipped away. Eric's stomach turned at the site; the most gruesome thing he’d ever seen. He bent forward, his good hand over his stomach. He knew he would be sick. He felt his stomach clench, and liquid moving up in his throat. His breakfast came gushing out of his mouth. It looked and tasted quite similar to when he had eaten it. He swished saliva around his mouth, and spat into the water where his vomit floated. He was about to pick up his sword when another arrow flew by, grazing his chest, cleaving off layers of skin. He fell into the water again, grasping the cut and howling in pain. Some water went into his lungs as he went under, and he violently thrashed, trying to get his head above the surface. Breaking out of the swamp, he coughed up a spray of water. Through huge effort, he managed to wheeze in enough air to keep himself alive. His ability to breathe, slowly returned. He waded to a small blood red island where more wounded conscripts lay waiting for death. He held his chest wound tight with both hands, curled up in a tight ball of pain. He became light headed. The battle going on around him seemed to run in slow motion. His mind drifted, and although he could see perfectly well what was happening, he couldn’t interpret its significance. A pleasant numbness washed over his body, until he could feel no pain. The world receded into a black abyss, leaving him only with the horrific sounds which he failed to comprehend.

Hippie

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Thu May 07, 2009 11:22 am

Hippie says... · Thu May 07, 2009 11:22 am

I just updated this. The next chapter I'm posting (5) features Eric (who used to be called George) so I thought I'd put the latest version of the prologue up.

Q: Where do you go to buy shoes?

A: At the shoez canal, lol.

Quote

Most things happen for a reason. Though, usually, the forces that be are immature enough that the reason is comedy.
— WeepingWisteria

The Accidental Rebellion, Prologue

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