Chapter 30 - Sange

(30)

-Sange-

 “24 hours.” Icarus’s voice trembles. “We have 24 hours until they—” 

Mow us down?

Slaughter us like cattle?

 Our shaky breaths are the only noise. 

 We have one chance, one battle. We either seize a bloody victory, or we lie to rest in a mass grave. 

 Across the table, Benjamin is gone, his eyes glossed and distant, his jaw set tight. Icarus tugs at his hair, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

 “We have to tell them.” Even as I say it, I’m filled with dread. I don’t think they hear me—I don’t know if I hear myself. My eyes burn with unshed tears, unspoken promises. 

 As I look at the two of them, Icarus’s hair thinned with anxiety, Benjamin’s cuticles bloody from nerves, my chest tightens. Pain seizes within my ribs. I love them. 

I love them and they need me. 

“When they come we’ll be ready.” I’m lying through my teeth. “We have 24 hours. I like our odds.” I smile: my heart aches.

The town square is swallowed by the swarming mass, a tense circle of listeners press in from every side.

“Tommorow,” my words ring out across the sea of bodies. They all stare, unblinking, unmoving, hanging on my every word. I swallow the fear choking in my throat, squaring my shoulders. “The enemy will reach our borders.” Somewhere a baby cries; hear the hush of a worried mother.

They fear you

They follow me. I have to lead them.

“There is a fight coming, but you know that.” Head up, shoulders back “You’re probably asking yourself ‘is it worth it’. I know I’ve asked myself the same question.” Slowly the tremble leaves my voice. “But answer me this: where do we draw the line? How many people need to die, how many lives shattered, children slaughtered?”

You might tell yourself those aren’t your people, why should you care? But how long will that excuse work? It’s not you versus me, it is us versus them, it always has been.” Nervous whispers drift through the air. “Those people, they destroyed their home, now they are coming to take ours. So I ask you, I beg you, look to the person to your right—” they do “—to your left? Those are the people you’re fighting for: mothers, daughters, sons, brothers, and sisters.”

A few nods, a building confidence. I take it as a cue to continue.

“This is our home!” A scattered collection of cheers bubbles. “This is our home! Tell me: WILL YOU FIGHT FOR IT!” The response is a roar, it arches through my body, shaking into my bones. 

Yet, in the crowd of cheers I find myself watching two forms. They stand further away from the rest, hand in hand, Icarus and Benjamin. The bedlam falls upon deaf ears as I watch the two of them. How far would I go, just to see them safe?

-o-

Stars peek in and out from behind dark clouds mocking us with their beauty. From my rooftop perch, shadows move through the streets like ants. 

As I watch the night near its end, I can’t help but picture what could have been. I may be young but I feel I have lived a hundred lifetimes. Life becomes so fragile, when you realize what you have to lose. Perspective matters in that sense. What is desperation if not driven from a place of love? 

I sigh, leaning back. 

The gentle ruffle of feathers follows Icarus as he takes a seat beside me. 

“Where’s Benjamin?” I ask.

“Asleep.”

“Whatever happens tomorrow—” I can’t finish.

“I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I just want now.” 

Maybe that's all we have, a single moment suspended in time. I’d stay this way forever if I could. Nothing but the soft sound of our breathing, drifting stars and the utter dark. 

We spend so much time running from the clock, refusing to acknowledge time doesn’t compromise. 

Endings are inevitable.

Sleep finds me eventually. I suppose Icarus returned to Benjamin some time in the night; he’s gone when I wake.

The sun has not yet crested the horizon, but its faint light has already begun to paint the sky in a pale grey. Bloated clouds lug lazily, flaunting their pompous promises of rain. 

Mindlessly, the familiar weight of my knife spins across my knuckles. The worn leather formed inherently to my grip, the metal lambent in the early dawn. When it’s over, I’m done. When the fight ends, when the last soldier falls, I’ll bury it. I’ll leave the sick blade in the earth. 

As for my family, I lead them now. I have the power to fix it all, I could rewrite the narrative. No more desperation, compassion over cruelty. I’ll break the cycle. 

When it's over, everything will be different.

The piercing scream of a horn blowing shakes the ground, shatters reality. 

No, no, no. It’s too soon. This wasn’t the plan.

Our borders have been breached.

Panic fills my lungs. My vision swims, caught somewhere between a dream and materiality. Every flicker of movement I witness in grotesque lucidity. 

 The streets flood with frantic bodies, ripped out of the safety of sleep. Pounding footsteps echo as the delirious mass swarms to find friends or weapons. Hysteria lights like a fire, it catches quick, spreading rampant through the ranks. They’re not going to their posts.

Get over yourself,

they need direction.

“Nothing has changed!” Focus on me. “Get to your posts!” Faces turn upward, their fear is palpable, stinging the sharp air. Despite the shake in my voice they begin to obey. 

As soon as I reach the street I scan the pulsing mob for my team. A glimpse of twitching crimson fur, reveals them standing firmly at attention. Pitiful relief washes over me.

I bark a series of orders. They do as they are told. 

The first shots ring out. The sound is like nothing I have ever heard. A vehement cacophony and a wave of gun fire. My ears ring violently. From the ridge archers release their arrows and they arch through the blood red sky. 

Kindled by the dry month, sparks light. Smoke plums the air, billowing from the smouldering birth of a forest alight.

Gore and hysteria flood the minds of soldiers and bystanders alike.

“We hold the line!” my words feel foreign on my tongue, “Are you with me!?” Cheers. 

We charge.

That’s when I see them: a wall of soldiers, adorned in deep blue uniforms. We advance, yet they seem numb to our approach.

The ground beneath my feet erupts. I’m thrown, as if I weigh nothing more than a ragdoll, sent lurching into a half’-crumbled wall. The back of my head cracks against the hard wood. Spots swell within my vision, blood beads sticky in my hair. I grind my teeth, pinching my eyes shut. My stomach rolls and I retch into the dirt, vomit smearing with gore and sweat. The sounds around me are foggy and distorted. 

I drag myself off the ground, fighting against the dizzy sway of the earth.

A single step forward. My foot catches and I fall, landing on something soft. Torn flesh slips beneath my fingers, slick and cool. My stomach writhes, I can’t breathe. Terror nips at my heels, threatening to pounce.

The face that stares back strangles the cries in my throat. Unblinking, his head bent angles as if straining to see something overhead—too far—bone glints devilishly white, protruding from the puckered flesh as if new teeth from young gums. Blood seeps in thin ribbons down dirty cheeks.

Rage slinks in the back of my mind—I seize it, falling into the cruel familiarity. Anger is easier: the comfort of wrath.

A snarl spits through my teeth, a deep animalistic growl, reverberating in the darkest depths of my ribs. I force myself to my feet. 

Let’s bring hell.

The flurry of battle shatters every preconceived perception of time, it stretches, dilates, stops and skips. 

To my right the steady presence of my troop, fighting with bloody ferocity. It’s about speed, everything relies on not getting caught, if you slow you’re dead. We brought knives to a gun fight. 

Conflict dances with familiar precision, a misstep of the enemy, an opportunity to strike. The wall of blue plows forward, falling bodies like a tidal wave.

A break in the line.

A series of shouts ring out—too slow—I seize my chance. A low kick and knees snap backward with a sickening crunch. Crimson stained soil skids beneath my feet, as I dart behind the line. I can’t help but grin at my own cunning.

I have seconds before they notice me. 

Deft fingers snag the handgun off the belt of an oblivious soldier. 

Shoot,

You don't have time.

Shoot. 

Just take the shot. 

Like fish in a barrell, 

You know what they’ve done

Rage, my dear friend, my kindest comfort, sweet palliation. 

I level the irons—

A cruel crack whips my head to the side, my vision spirals. The pistol clatters from my grip. I fall to my knees. Time slips through my grip. The earth rocks, swaying as if a boat in open water.

The cool metal of a gun barrel, an icy kiss on my forehead. 

Bang.

A mist of gore slops from the sky. My heat rattles within its confines.

The man slumps.