Finding the Words

Iro walked over the low hill that led to the Prismatic war camp of Tralover. Most of the army had already returned, they now circled campfires and made ready for bed. Though there were more than a few groups who didn’t look as if they would sleep anytime soon as they laughed and roared around small fires. Iro looked down at his green uniform as he walked. It was in tatters, the left sleeve torn and a dozen different cuts covered it.

Iro hated the uniform. He hated wearing green and the thing was stiff and rigidly cut. He felt suffocated when he had to wear the jacket buttoned up to his neck, so at the moment it hung open. He hated the three horizontal red ribbons on the right side of his chest, and Iro hated the lecture he would get for ruining the uniform as he had. True, he’d been in battle and was lucky to be alive, but brass buttons were hard to come by! Iro would have shoved his hands in his pockets, but his uniform coat didn’t have any. Iro stalked down the hillside, leaving a trail of dust behind.

As he entered the camp a shout or two arose. Gaty popped up from one of the fires and ran over, the short man with a scar on his ear had never been extraordinary in many areas, but there was one place where the man shined.

“Now that you’re done runnin’ your hide through a Motley grinder, it’s time for you to buy drinks. And I know you can only count to seven, so you can just give the marks to me and I’ll take Care of it for ya.” Gaty said, parting purple shaded lips in a smile. The man was all too good at sarcasm, and added in being crass to complete the look.

Gaty grabbed Iro by the shoulder and shoved him over to the fire pit. Half a dozen eyes or so looked up lazily at him. Iro shot Gaty a look as the short man started to speak.

“Here gentlemen, is what I know you’ve all been waiting for. Here is the perfect example of a distinguished, loyal, and above all, professional Prismatic soldier. More commonly known as twit!” He announced, shooting Iro his own look that said ‘play along’. The men around the circle laughed. Iro rolled his eyes before straightening his back and given the group of before him a slight bow. “Notice his timely arrival.” Gaty said with a wave. Iro smiled at the other men and said.

“I would have had a watch, but alas . . .” Iro held open his jacket, showing the lack of pockets. The dreary looking men continued to laugh.

“See his disciplined and practiced physique.” Gaty continued. With that Iro started laughing and fell down on the ground. “Discipline that only a stingy aunt of the Seconds could appreciate.” Gaty gave another wave and the men watched the show.

“Red’s Fire man! Shut up already!” Iro said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“There is truly no way to describe just how picturesque such a soldier is.”

“You need to get your eyes checked.” Iro said, scrambling off the ground and propping an elbow on the shorter man’s shoulder. “And now that you’ve used me to your own devices, get me a Absence laced drink! You still know what those look like, yes?”

“As you wish Sargent.” Gaty said, walking back to the fire.

“Oh shut up about that.” Iro said. Gaty turned back to him and saluted, almost slapping himself with a bottle that he’d seemingly summoned from the air. Iro sighed, following him and plopping himself onto a rough cut log. Gaty handed him a dented cup and Iro sniffed if timidly, he could almost pass out from the smell alone.

“What is this?” He asked, timidly taking a sip.

“Farr called it Tesqu---uhhh. What did you call it man!” Gaty called over to Farr, a Strong Shade from Witwire, it was an odd land, if Farr’s tattooed eyes, and ring in his eyebrow said anything.

“Tesquilas, from the fruit of the Javidal tree.” Farr said

“What’s the Javidal tree?” Another man asked.

“I think you people call it Pine.” Every man around the fire looked down at their drink, then one man--- Ortri--- spit it out while three others ---Teller, Varna, and Galttiv--- asked for more. Iro looked down at his dented pewter cup and the clear liquid inside.

“Well, it hasn’t killed me yet, and that’s more than I can say about some western drinks.” Iro said, taking another swig. The other men around him laughed and Gaty sat down beside him, pushing him over to get more of the log. From Gaty’s appearance it didn’t seem like he could push a man like Iro around as he did, but he was a Strong Shade, and a talented one. Most of the enlisted men were Strong Shades. Around his small fire alone, there were only two Drive Shades and Iro was the only Speed Shade. Though Iro was the only Speed Shade who was in this entire platoon, other then the messengers.

In an army, being able to run away faster didn’t help anyone. That’s not how it really worked with Speed Shades, but people were too thick headed to see that. Iro was one of the few Speed Shades who fought because he was special. He was different, making it okay, making it understandable. They weren’t wrong about everything, there was always an exception to the rules, always. Iro hunched over his drink, people weren’t looking to him for entertainment so he didn’t have to give it.

He hadn’t been very happy lately. He was tired of the same thing. Fight, forget. Fight, forget. Even what he was doing now would fall into him forgetting. And Iro’s time with Estnav would just turn to fighting. That’s all he had now, and it was infuriating. He’d talked to Gaty about leaving, but the man had thought he had been drunk, and pushed it aside.

“What’s it now?” Gaty asked, shoving his shoulder. “That stuff hasn’t gone to your head already?”

“I’m just tired.” Iro said, rolling his cup between his hands.

“We’re all tired, some of us just have the courtesy not to whine about it.”

“Are you asking me to be courteous?” Iro asked.

“No, I’m asking you to jump over the moon. Keep up!” Gaty said smiling.

“My apologies. Next time I’ll remember that little buzzing is actually you.”

“Now that’s courtious!” Gaty said before taking another drink.

“Never thought I’d seen the day when you’d be doling out advice.” Iro said.

“I’m a good advisor.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I’m quite the aficionado, I taught you how to speak didn’t I? AND I SHOWED HARVIK HOW TO DANCE!” He called out to the bulkley Drive Shade from Darvelas.

“What now?” Harvik asked.

“I was just telling speedy here what a good advisor I am.”

“That’s a lie.” The man replied.

“Oh please, you didn’t know your right foot from your left until I helped you!” Gaty yelled.

“You were drunk I am fairly sure it was less dancing me more me dodging your half aimed punches.” Havrik turned back to the person he’d been talking to.

“And wasn’t it beautiful?”

“Shut up Gaty.” Harvik said. Gaty laughed and turned back to Iro.

“That’s just sad.” Iro said, hunching over again.

“Look in the mirror.” Gaty said, refilling Iro’s dented cup and tapped it with his own. “Cheers.” The other man said quietly.

“Cheers.” Iro muttered.

Evening came and Iro continued sitting, his only interest being the cup in his hands. Gaty would dash off to refill his drink or jam himself into a conversation, but he always came back to scorn Iro over his ill mood.

“Come on man! You could stand up maybe? Blink? That asking too much?” He would say before moving on to someone who had more to say. Iro didn’t feel like acting the fool tonight. Memories of today’s battle kept popping up, seeping into every thought. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the brow blood splattered across the tent canvas. Iro ignored Gaty the next time he came over, and the next. When the man came over and refused to leave Iro snapped his head up, ready to scream at the short little Strong Shade.

To Iro’s surprise he looked up to see a messenger, his anger cut off with confusion. The green shaded man looked rather frightened.

“What?” Iro asked.

“Major Carvder wants to see you . . . Sargent Carvder” The man said with a bit of hesitation.

“Go tell the major he can take his ribbons, mine too for that matter, and hang himself.” Iro responded.

“And why don’t you tell him yourself?” Gaty’s voice rang from Iro’s other side. “Wouldn’t it be better to see the man’s reaction?” Gaty asked.

“And be within arm’s reach of him? I’d rather not.” Iro responded.

“But just imagine . . .” Gaty said, waving one hand through the air. “The great Major Estnav Carvder himself . . . having his eyes pop.” Gaty said with false awe.

“Now that you say it, that seems rather sensible. Don’t you think so?” Iro asked the messenger who looked at Iro as if he’d just grown horns.

“Y-yes sir.” The man said sheepishly. “Follow me?” He said, the look of desperation clear on his face.

“I know my own way.” Iro responded while standing. The messenger sighed in relief as he saluted and rushed away from the campfire. Iro slowly made his way around Corporal Arnet, who was asleep on the ground, and and over empty bottles that would be forgotten until command officers pointed them out the next morning.

After the odd game of ‘Hop over the drunk enlisted’ Iro dragged himself towards the officer tents. With his large boots kicking up dirt, Iro made it to Estnav’s large, grey tent, while wanting to shove his hands into jacket pockets that weren’t there. Sweeping back the entrance flap Iro stepped into the brightly lit space. Estnav looked up at him from a large, collapsible desk as the tent flap shut behind him. Estnav seemed to stare him down with squinting, hazel eyes. Estnav set down the pen in his hand and looked up at Iro, waiting. Iro gave the major a small glare before holding three fingers over his heart in a salute.

Estnav untensed while saying.

“I could have you jailed for that.”

“Go right ahead. I won’t mind being in a iron box while you run off into battle.” Iro said, shrugging. He looked around the room, but didn’t see another chair amongst the tall lantern hangings and the table covered in maps. So he just crossed his arms. Estnav continued to study him, burnt orange lips in the slightest frown.

“At ease then.” He said, face tightening again before he continued. “Good work today, General Jalvrik is-- or was-- quite the adversary. Jacavar will be weakened for at least a month.”

“You can’t even measure my glee, sir.” Iro said.

“My job would be much easier if that had been said with sincerity.”

“I am at a loss, sir.” Iro started to tap his finger on his forearm.

“What happened Sargent? I year ago you were at my heels waiting for an order. But now?” Estnav sighed.

“Sorry I’m not an idiot anymore, sir.” Iro said.

“Sargent, don’t you remember how simple things were back then?”

“Simple? No sir.”

“This just a pity Sargent, and I honestly don’t know how this all started.”

“If I’m so worthless, send me home.”

“You don’t want to go home Sargent.”

“Hmm. Home? Or dying? I think I know what I want. Sir.”

“You know won’t die here Sargent.” Sargent, Sargent, Sargent! So it seems I don’t have a name anymore.

“Major, this is a war.”

“But you don’t fight in a war Sargent, what you do it quite different. You may die on a mission, but it won’t be because of this war.”

“What does that even mean? Everything’s because of this war!” Estnav clasped his hands together, he looked close to smiling.

“What I have you do involves the war, but you cannot call it battle. It’s much more organized than that Sargent. I thought you’d seen that long ago.”

“I’m killing generals, that’s part of a war.”

“Yes, you are. But it’s separated, on a different tier, from what the enlisted do. What you do, what I order you to do, if more efficient than two armies colliding on a field. And on the subject of that difference, you’ve been doing well across the board Sargent. I think it’s time to move you to the next step.”

“Next step?”

“What you do during a battle is . . . clever, if I do say so, but a diluted form of what you could do.” Iro frowned. “You’ll be sent to Yeasret in two days, I’ll have all the formalities over with by then.” Estnav turned back to what work covered his desk. Iro sat there silently, his eyes wide.

“Y-Yeasret?” Iro asked. “Why are you sending me to an enemy camp!?”

“I’ve talked to Primary General Maeily, and he and I agreed to send you to dispatch of Varen General Hawsel.”

“Dispatch? What does that mean?” Iro’s hands fell to his sides, his mouth hung open from shock.

“You’re going to kill General Hawsel. He runs Yeasret after all, if we deal with him, the base won’t run as smoothly. That gives us, and the surrounding Prismatic armies, quiet an opening. But if they start picking up the pieces too quickly, we can always send you in again.” Estnav said, flipping the pen in his hands.

“I-I can’t do that.” Iro mumbled.

“You’ll be of in two days, and the journey will take three days to complete, there and back. I assume you’ll work at night, you’ll be in civilian clothes, and the plan is so new that no one could have caught wind of it. And even if they have heard, they couldn’t catch you anyway Sargent.” Estnav smiled slightly. Iro knew the odd mix of pride for both himself and what he’d shaped.

“No.” Iro said.

“No? That’s not an answer here.”

“I said no.”

“Are you refusing an order? I’ve been lenient with you for a year Sargent, don’t push it.”

“I can’t.” Iro said. Estnav tilted his head.

“‘Can’t.’ Now there’s an odd choice of words. What can’t you do? Hide for a few hours outside of camp? Make your escape before the alarm sounds, if one even sounds before morning? Or can you not kill him? The later seems the least likely.” Estnav pushed back his chair and stood. “If you say you ‘Can’t’ kill this man, then I am simply at a loss Iro. You do this at every battle. Does it truly make a difference if a man is sitting at a desk or lying in bed? Either way, you kill them. I don’t see the problem, and neither should you. You’ll reform this attitude before you leave. Now--”

“I can’t do that!” Iro stuttered.

“Sargent, this isn’t helping your case. If I’d had anyone else to do this job you’d already be locked up.”

“This isn’t right.” Iro turned away from his brother, looking down at the ground. How could Estnav ask him to do this? How did he not see? Iro’s fists clenched, his eyes wouldn’t shut. Why doesn’t he see? Is he that blind now?

“Sargent! Are you even listening? Say you’ll comply or I will have you punished. It’s much better to agree now then to be convinced later on.” Why doesn’t he see? How long has he been planning this? A month? Five years!? Iro stepped back, his eyes stuck on the ground.

“I can’t do that. I can’t kill a man who can’t even see I’m there. He won’t even be conscious, he won’t even know . . . It’s different with battles. It’s just as bad with generals. I can’t do it. This is crossing a--” Iro cut himself off. Crossing what? He didn’t even know. Iro looked up at his brother. Estnav’s face was shaded with a burnt orange, his eyes almost burned. Drive Shades were known to snap, and Iro had experience with his brother’s temper. Estnav rolled his shoulders in his dark red uniform, brighter hued ribbons pinned to his chest.

“I-I won’t.” Iro said.

“I won’t accept such insubordination!” Estnav shouted, his hand came down in a fist, but he stopped himself before it hit his desk. Estnav stayed quiet for a moment. “If didn’t need you Iro, if there was anyone else . . . I would have had you strung up. I can’t send you back to being a messenger anymore can I?” Estnav looked up at him, Iro looked back up at him, only to glare. “No, that isn’t a thread anymore. But how’s Corporal Gattry? I could transfer him to Tormen, along with Farr, maybe Ortri?” Iro felt his heart sink, his feet tingled and his stomach had swapped places with every other organ, all in the same moment.

“They’ll die!”

“Yes, because the camp of Yeasret is simply too strong. I can send the order tonight, and have them, and maybe a few others, gone in the morning. Now, why don’t you followed orders Sargent? Do you remember when this was all easier?”

“What are you anymore? Where’s you--?” His what? Iro couldn’t think of the word, his mind was almost blank. “Don’t you see why all this is wrong? I can’t--”

“Oh, I see things Sargent. I see the reports, I see the numbers, and I don’t mind sacrificing half a dozen men to save thousands. Why can’t you see that?” Estnav raised his hand, pointing at Iro as he shielded back.

“What force, what delusion, is keeping you from seeing that? Sargent, you’re going to do this mission, and every one I order after. You’re going to help me win the war. You’re going to follow me, and I’m going to beat Jacavar. But none of this can start while Hawsel lives.”

“No!” Iro shouted. Why can’t he see?

“No? Why Iro? Why is this so difficult? Why go against things? It’s all just a waist, things used to be so easy. When did all this start happening? Where has Private who only wanted to work harder gone?” Estnav’s looked back at his desk. He sighed again. “Understanding your reasoning is as pointless as your refusal. Do you see this as a battle of principle? Are you even clever enough to think of principles? Probably not.” Estnav smiled the smallest bit. “When did my little brother become a scholar hmm? When did he start looking at morals?”

Iro took another step back as Estnav continued.

“This is what this is about. But, how silly.” Estnav said. “No, morality isn’t right. I can’t see your reasons, but like I said, it’s pointless, even if I did figure it out.”

“Why would you even ask this of me?” Iro asked.

“Sargent, that is a very stupid question. Firstly, this is not a request. Secondly, no other man can run into camp, kill the general, and be outside again in a wink. Or at least, none are under my direct chain of command.”

“Th-there has to be someone else!”

“None that I can reach in the next two days, and Hawsel will be on his way back to the Varen capital after that. That’s why this entire conversation is must end soon. Now, you’ve received your orders, and I’ve indulged you in this little chat, so go back to your bunk before I have you thrown there. You need your legs to run Sargent. However, that leaves the rest of you open to punishment. I won’t let the disrespect you’ve shown here go unpunished, and although I can’t permanently take care of you, or send you off. Other, temporary, means are at my disposal. Though, in order to not affect your mission, it would have to be done upon your return. Maybe if you go beyond expectations, I might consider lightening the sentence.” Estnav sat down at his desk once again, with his pen in hand.

“You are dismissed, Sargent Carvder.” Iro stood their, almost numb, before talking another step back and hitting the tent canvas. After that, Iro didn’t know weather he fell out of ran from that tent. He also didn’t return to the campfire. He saw them in the distance, the glow casting shadows from other officer tents. Iro almost walked into an evening patrol as he walked, his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything. What am I doing? Iro thought, he was panting and didn’t know why. Two days. Yeasret. Iro’s eyes simply ran from one thing to another. A tent, a man cleaning his boot to the side of a water barrel, the fire light in the distance. Occasionally he’d look up, to see Tretyed’s clear, starless sky. Even the sky is barren here. Iro continued to walk, he didn’t know where he was really going. I can’t do this. Iro broke off from the path through the tents and headed for the edge of camp. Why can’t he see? Why can’t I even finish a sentence. Crossing what line? What has Estnav lost? Why did he ask me?

Iro stubbed his toe on a tent peg, but continued on his way. His vision swapping from right to left, the dirt below, sky above. Iro’s breath came short and ragged, his throat was almost raw, but he’d done no shouting. Iro’s legs trembled slightly as he walked, he slanted from one way to another, completely lost as he weaved through close tents. He didn’t run into any campfires, nor did he find the main rows between tents. There weren’t many rows in the tents, they were just scattered everywhere. Iro’s cheek still hurt from the knick he’s gotten earlier, and the soreness of today’s battle was also weighing on him. Iro continued to walk, to wonder, to almost fall, only to miraculously gain his footing.

Iro passed so many yellow-tan canvases it was hard to tell what he’s already passed and what was new. None of this is new. He reminded himself. This is all the same as it was five years ago. Was he thinking about this back then? Did he always know this would happen? That the only thing that kept me a part of this war would be shattered?

“Do I want to be a part of this war?” Iro wisperd. “Do I really want to have a purpose here of all places?” Iro was even more confused, he didn’t know what the word was, how to describe what was driving him. What was it that blocked him from simply following orders? What force made his stomach twist and the back of his neck sweat? What was the thing that stopped him from being what Estnav wanted?

Iro continued dragging his feet over ropes and pegs. The night’s heat hung at his green coat, and his dark brown boots were covered in dust. Iro hadn’t bothered to fix himself up back at the fire. He hadn’t even seen a medic, Iro felt that little scratch on his cheek again.

“It’ll probably scar.” He mumbled. Iro continued on his walk, ignoring what was around him while his gaze dashed from one thing to the next all at the same time.

Iro’s foot caught on something, before he knew it he was lying on Tretyed’s dusty ground. Iro groaned.

“Red’s fire.” He cursed. Focusing on what was around him, Iro saw the he was outside of camp, very far. How long was I walking? He wondered, sitting up and rubbing his chin, that had hit the ground. Iro looked at his foot to see it tangled in a shrub.

“Of course.” He grumbled. “The one thing that grows in Tretyed is a nuisance.” Iro rubbed his chin again, then turned over and layed on the dusty Tretyed ground once again. He stared up at the barren sky.

“I am going to die he.” He whispered. “Even if my blood is still pumping, I still won’t be alive. I’ll escape, but I won’t live. There’s a difference, right?” Iro pressed a hand to his forehead. “Everything’s blurred. Fight and forget. It’s all confusing.” Iro clenched his jaw, staring up at the barren sky. “Why can’t it make sense? What’s the word?”

Iro continued to stare upwards, absently his right hand moved in the dust. In the dry dirt he drew a small prayer. Iro sat up and look at his work, it was the symbol of the Second Interpretation. It’s set of six triangles surrounding the circle of the Argenteus, and inside it were the twin circles of body and mind. The three small triangles, drawn on the most outside of the ring represented the three secondary, Prismatic colors of men. Meanwhile the primary colors of the gods were closer connected to the Argenteus. It showed dedication, that one has the gods at the center of their life, but that they are small, like the the three triangles, in comparison. Iro was a follower of the Fifth Interpretation, but drawing a prayer of dedication, the Second’s main belief, was what he needed.

Beside the first symbol Iro drew the small three sided shape the represented green in the original Prismatic symbol. The shape had two straight sides, and on curved, and he drew an arrow to heading right at the corner of where one of the straight, and a curve line connected. That showed where it was in relation to the circle of the Argenteus, making it possible to discern from the other secondary symbols, that also had two straight and one curved side. If he’d had something to color, he wouldn’t need the arrow. But all Iro had was the yellow-brown dirt. Next Iro drew a series of small circles, there were fifteen in total. Twelve of the fifteen were colored in, while the others were open. Those circles represented the ratio of shade to tint in his blood, making it possible for the gods to find him amongst all the Speed Shades of the world. Others would use nine circles, or three, and shade what parts they needed to create the proper ratio.

When he was done, Iro looked at his little prayer. All things considered it was rather simple. Many others would draw more than one Interpretation symbol, ever pick out which ideals they wished to amplify. They would also use color, which made things much more specific. Making a prayer in color allowed you to give it a theme, adding blue to the background, showing that overall you wanted change. Outlining where the blood color the prayer was addressed to with red, showing you wanted that person harmed.

Iro groaned, he wanted to wipe away the absent minded scribbles, but he didn’t. He need dedication, he needed something steady. He needed something to fixate on, this ring of fighting and forgetting was sending him closer to his brink by the day. He needed a distraction, not to clear his mind, but to give the soldier in him a rest.

“I’m not a soldier.” He said. “Estnav said it himself, ‘it’s separated, on a different tier, from what the enlisted do’." He quoted. “‘Do you see this as a matter of principal?’” Iro laughed. “‘Go beyond expectations.’” Iro jerked his head up and smiled. “Go beyond Major? Now that’s a nice way to say things. What exactly are you expecting?” Iro laughed the slightest bit again.

“Aye! Speedy!” Everything in Iro’s mind washed away. Iro swung his head towards the sound, petrified, only to see a short, stocky figure walk towards him from the camp. Iro had no idea he had gotten so far from camp in his walk. But he hadn’t been thinking at all right after he left Estnav.

“Whatcha talkin’ about over there?” Gaty asked, slowly making his way over.

“The different ways our lovely Major’ll cook my hide. Right now I’m leaning towards a nice sautee.”

“Oh no man! It’ll be on a spit and you know it. That’s his sorta style y’know?”

“Right. Wonder what Sergeant Mayber will have to say . . . “ Iro wondered aloud.

“He’ll just go around defending his beloved superior as usual.” Gaty was about halfway to where Iro sat.

“And continue hating me.” Iro said.

“Yeah. Seein’ as how you ‘Disgraced the Carveder name’ and all that.” Iro busted out laughing.

“‘Carvder name’?? Oh yes, what a reputation to uphold. Gotta follow my old pops to the grave and my Uncle Cis under a bridge, in the old family tradition.”

“Bridge? Hmm. Don’t sound too bad. Better than a tree I guess.”

“Where’d you even get tree from?”

“Eh. Just thinking.”

“Now there’s a new development.”

“Oh, didn’t I tells ya? I started thinking about a week ago.” Gaty smiled as he sat down beside Iro.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Hey Speedy?”

“Yeah.”

“Why in Tint’s mind are you out here?”

“It’s oh so comfortable.”

“Heh. I forgot you like sitting on rocks.”

“You forgot? I’m offended.”

“As it usually goes after speaking more than three words to me.”

“Just three?”

“Gotta keep to the lucky numbers and all that.”

“Huh.”

“Heard you ran over a patrol on your way outta M’Carvder’s.” Gaty said. M’Carvder was a way to distinguish Iro from his brother. If anyone used Iro’s lastname, they always said S’Carvder, or I’Carvder when Iro snapped at them about his rank.

“I didn’t run them over, just didn’t see them.”

“You didn’t see twelve men walking in a line?”

“Nope.”

“You alright?”

“Nope, as always.”

“Right answer.” Gaty said, resting a hand on his chin, and an elbow on his knee. Iro looked over at Gaty, the bust into laughter, so much so he fell back on the ground.

“What?” Gaty said.

“You sat on my prayer!” Iro said between breaths. “So much for my dear dedication!” Gaty looked down at where he sat, and laughed along.

“Since when are you dedicated to anything?”

“Never. What do you think the prayer was for?” Iro said, looking back up at the barren Tretyed sky.