The Great War: Chapter 47
Friends and family are always there
“You’re free to go,” a healer says to Mathew. “Please vacate as soon as possible.”
Anya squeezes Mathew’s stiff hand, a smile across her face. Mathew, however, still doesn’t feel up for moving, let alone rolling out of his cot and walking again. His muscles are tight, aching with each twitch. He’s been lying in this cot for many cycles now. Can he truly stand and walk now?
“Come on, Mat,” Anya says, pulling his arm gently. Her eyes shine like little blue stars, eager and youthful. She’s excited to bring him to the tent she shares with that Isaac fellow, to be close to him once more.
“Aye,” he groans. He moves slowly, letting his sister support him as he lifts his chest and head into the air. He can practically hear his body creaking as he sits up. He swings his legs over the side of the cot and lands on his feet. His ankles flair with the heat of pain as he stumbles on shaking legs. Anya wraps her arms around him to help keep him upright, though her thin frame does little to uphold her brother’s heavy body.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, though he tries to stand strong for her. Together, the two siblings make their way over to the cloth opening.
Getting to see the infirmary for the first time, he finds wizards in green and white robes stained with blotches of black and red rushing about, some carrying medical supplies as others search for more work to do. There are hardly any other beings that don’t look like them, save for Isaac and two silver-armored guards that flank the opening silently. He can feel their gazes land on him as he and Anya emerge, though Isaac cracks a small smile and steps forward to help Anya support her brother.
“Are you sure you’re supposed to be up?” he asks with a light chuckle.
“That’s what they said,” Mathew can only reply.
“Let’s get you to the tent so you can lie somewhere more comfortable. Take it slow.”
Mathew casts the two guards a glance as the three wizards start off. As they grow distant, the guards eventually leave their posts and starts in their direction. “And what about them?”
“The guards?” Isaac hums. “They’re here to look after you, too. Don’t mind them.”
“Really?” Anya asks.
“The prince deemed your brother to be that important, I guess.”
Anya falls silent, her face growing long. Mathew believes he know what she’s thinking. for he’s wondering the same thing. Could he truly be meant to speak to the great Spirit of Shadow? Is the prince so confident in his assumption that he’s gone out of his way to provide Mathew this extra layer of protection? He almost can’t help but chuckle in amusement. It feels but mere moments ago he had been treated like trash aboard the Island Destroyer, unable to say or do anything without being under the ever-watching gazes of the Guardians.
And then they step outside. He has to squint momentarily to wait for his eyes to adjust as he breathes in the sweet, salty sea air, the sounds of a bustling port and anchored boats bobbing up and down in the water ringing in his ears. It almost reminds him of Port San Ovila. With his eyes barely open, he can fool himself into believing he was there once again, waiting to be given his assignment.
It almost doesn’t feel real as he’s guided down the streets of Ica. He’s heard of the city from his mother, how full of life and color it is. And he can now finally see what she meant, at all the different wizards that mill about, pushing and shoving their way through the thick crowd of beings all trying to do the exact same thing. Feni pop in and out of sight, their pointed ears easy to miss amidst the dense crowd. The harbor is stuffed with ships large and small, some of them seeming to have not been taking out sailing recently with their tightly rolled or even completely removed sails.
And yet with Mathew hanging from the arms of two other wizards, the crowd around them seems to magically part for them as they slowly make their way through the sea of beings.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Not at all like San Ovila.”
“Definitely not,” Isaac nods, understanding his comment. “Here, they actually care.”
Indeed, San Ovila is a much different place. Crowded, yes, but with much more pushing and shoving from all sides. If you don’t move out of the way then you will be moved. And if you don’t shove those out of your way yourself then you’ll never get anywhere quickly.
Mathew keeps his head down, focusing on walking, letting Isaac and Anya steer him through the bustling city. With each step, the noise grows the deeper they walk, then gradually fades as they leave the crowds behind, the ocean air turning earthen and dusty. When he finally lifts his head once more, the tall buildings have become vast golden fields of grain, a single dirt pathway lined with tents made from colorful cloth. Guards dressed in silver and black patrol the long length of the tents as beings crawl in and out of their temporary shelters.
“Here we are,” Isaac hums at last as Mathew is turned to one specific tent. Isaac steps forward to pull back the fabric, revealing a softly lit interior padded will all sorts of cushions and blankets. The sight of a cozy space makes Mathew exhale thankfully, his tense body finally able to unwind.
He finds the strength within himself to stagger forward and throw himself onto a large pile of cushions, sighing into them as they mold comfortably around his body. They’re soft to the touch and squishy under his weight. By far much better than that stiff cot he had been stuck in.
“The guards are outside,” Isaac comments.
Mathew manages to flip onto his back and asks, “Think those royals will return?”
“Probably,” Isaac replies, folding his arms. “I don’t know what they want with you, but whatever it is, it must be important.”
Oh, if only he knew. Frankly, Mathew still isn’t entirely sure if he trusts the prince. Things are moving too fast for his liking. Then again, war waits for no being to get themselves together.
“Well, make yourself as comfortable as you want,” Isaac says, gesturing to the seemingly-endless piles of cushions scattered around the tent. “I’m going to go get some food.”
The Illusionist ducks back out of the tent, leaving the siblings alone. Almost instantly after they’re left to their own devices, Anya scoops up one of the many cushions and tosses it squarely onto Mathew’s face.
He can’t help but let out a laugh as he pulls it off of him, only to be hit with another. Anya, too, unleashes a light giggle as she continues to pummel her brother. He throws the cushions back in retaliation, just barely able to watch as they bounce harmlessly off of Anya’s figure. The moment of levity is just what he needs to forget all that’s happened over the last couple of cycles.
After a couple more tosses, Anya approaches Mathew and sits on the cushions beside him, hugging one of them close to her chest. Her smile fades, replaced by a sad frown, and her gaze retreats from reality.
“Ingum would have loved to join us,” she mumbles. Mathew reaches out and pats her leg, trying to reassure her as best he can while his heart also aches with longing and guilt.
“I’m sorry I hadn’t been there.”
His sister is silent, staring deep into the cushion in her arms, tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes. Mathew stares up at the tent’s slanted ceiling glowing with soft orange light. If he knew what would have happened, he would have gone with them. Though… maybe that would have been hard since his mother seemed to have chosen to leave Mathew behind.
“Do you think the prince is right?” Anya asks.
“I don’t know,” Mathew sighs back. He rubs his face with his hands, trying in vain to clear his head. “After the ship, I just don’t know.”
“What was it like?”
“Big. Big and…” Lorn’s friendly smile flashes in his mind, a smile hiding all that he truly was. A liar that was scared of himself. “…full of danger at every turn.”