The Great War: Chapter 9
Another cycle on Korodon
“Did you read Running to the Stars?” Ezra asks.
“I did, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted to,” Isaac replies with a sad sigh, thinking back on the book. He read it anyways because it was all he had on hand to provide distraction.
Ezra purses his lips. “The main character wasn’t for every being, I guess.”
Isaac can’t help but chuckle. “Ernor wasn’t my issue. I actually found him quite humorous.”
“I kind of liked Ernor, up until the end.”
“I think the scenes could have been a bit more developed-”
The flap of their tent rustles, and the two boys pause their conversation to stare at the entrance. A gut-sinking somberness washes over Isaac as Anya steps in, a basket in her hand. Her dull eyes are distant, fixated on the ground.
“They’re carrying the injured off,” she mumbles. Slowly, her thoughts begin to stray to her mother and younger brother, their smiling figures emerging from darkness…
Isaac stands and takes the basket from her hand, turning his idle attention away from her mind. It’s heavy, full of fruit and bread from the market. Although they’re refugees, they still need to pay for food.
“How’d the coins work?” he asks.
Anya looks up at him, some semblance of life returning to her gaze. “They took them as pay. But… isn’t this stealing?”
Isaac lets out a heavy sigh. There are many things he wants to reply with, but is hesitant to do so. They’re in a war. And in war, anything goes.
He places the basket of food down next to the tent’s center pole. “I used to do this all the time.” He holds up his hand, and a single silver coin appears between his fingers. It looks and weighs like a regular coin, the illusion practically undetectable to the untrained eye. It wears away after a couple of cycles, and usually in that time the illusion would have traded hands a few times. It’s a harmless trick. “If it allows us to survive, I don’t intend to stop.”
Ezra folds his arms uncomfortably, pulling his crossed legs closer to his body. “You’re practically a criminal.”
Isaac rolls his eyes. “No being notices one or two coins missing after a while, now, do they?”
His two companions are silent, still trying to justify how his actions are morally wrong to themselves. Anya and Ezra are good beings, but they’ll never understand just how strapped for coin his family had been on San Ovila. His parents did the same thing, too. It’s how they were able to survive as long as they did.
Isaac picks up a piece of bread and begins breaking it into chunks. “Hungry?”
Ezra is quiet, thinking of his own family, wondering how they’re doing by themselves. If they’re also eating like-
Isaac bares his teeth as frustration begins to build. If only he had a book to read and a room of his own, he’d not be prying as much as he is. Is it his fault if he can’t even control whatever this curse is?
He steps up to the Creationist and holds out a piece of broken bread to him.
“Whatever happens,” he says, “you have to keep moving forward.”
Ezra nods, taking the bread from his hand. “Thanks.”
Isaac gives another piece to Anya, and the three sit in a small circle on the ground.
“How long do you think this is going to last?” Ezra asks, tearing off small chunks of bread and shoving them in his mouth, hollowing out the bread’s crust.
“It depends,” Isaac replies.
“Depends on what?”
“Celestial intervention, though the stars only know what Korodon is doing up there.”
“Mother always told us that Korodon was watching,” Anya comments.
Isaac and Ezra exchange skeptical looks.
“Even if He is, He hasn’t been helping much,” Ezra grumbles.
“For all we know, Korodon and Asandra operate the same way,” Isaac says. “Except that Asandra’s influence is more… overt.”
“I kind of hoped that Korodon wasn’t like Asandra like that,” Ezra sighs. Anya shrugs unhelpfully.
Isaac agrees with Ezra. He, too, hopes that Korodon isn’t directly in control of the wizard monarchy the way Asandra is with her Guardians. And yet he can’t help but speculate all the same.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he says eventually.
“A letter to the prince from the king.” The messenger hands Devin a neatly folded piece of paper.
“Thank you,” he replies, accepting the letter. First light broke not long ago, filling Korodon with gusts of cold wind. Devin wouldn’t be feeling so cold, however, if he weren’t standing guard outside Samuel’s tent.
He can’t help but let out a hopeless sigh. The prince has been stubborn about returning to the castle, insisting he stay at the refugee camp for a few cycles. Though why he also wanted to sleep in a tent is beyond Devin. It wouldn’t have been hard to find a room for him in Ica, being royalty and all.
He turns to the tent flaps and lifts them, revealing the dim interior. A cot is set up in the back for Samuel to sleep on, where he still slumbers.
“Samuel,” Devin announces his presence loudly, causing the prince to stir. He approaches the cot as his friend sits up. “You have a letter from your father.”
“What about?” Samuel asks with a long yawn.
Devin sighs impatiently, holding out the letter. “Just read it.”
Samuel runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out somewhat before taking the paper. As he reads in the lackluster light of the tent, the air begins to fill with static.
“Should I even bother writing back?” he asks aloud, his voice full of tired irritation. He swings his legs over the side of the cot, slipping into his shoes, and stands, the letter gripped in a tight fist.
“What did he ask?” Devin inquires.
“He wants me home.”
“For?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t specify.” The prince paces around the tent in an apparent attempt to walk off his tiredness. “They still need so much,” he continues, referring to the refugees. “Blankets, food, water…”
“I’m sure he won’t keep you long,” Devin says. “You can have some of the guards begin those efforts while you’re away as well.”
“You’re right, I could…” he hums reluctantly. Devin knows why he’s hesitant to his idea, but Samuel can’t continue to avoid his father like this. Not during a full-scale war.
“You should go see him,” Devin says firmly. “If he sent you a letter, then it must be important.”
Samuel simply frowns at the ground, his arms folded defiantly.
“We can come back,” Devin continues. “He wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
It takes a moment for Samuel to nod in agreement. “You have a point.”
Devin just shrugs. It’s his job to have some sort of point.
“Alright,” Samuel sighs, “let’s get going as soon as we can. I don’t want to still be walking after nightfall.”
“As you wish.”
Devin steps back into the open air. The dirt road is starting to fill with wandering refugees drifting from tent to tent, possibly to unite with family or friends for a meal. Not far from Samuel’s tent, guards stand at the corners, keeping watch of the perimeter to make sure no being attempts to cause the prince harm.
Devin approaches one of these guards. They’re young, probably a new recruit who finished their training not too long before the war started. He can’t help but feel a little bad for them.
“We’re returning to the castle. Tell the others and prepare for departure.”
The guard gives him a salute. “Yes, sir!”
He watches the guard hurry off with a tired gaze. With them returning to the castle, he can’t help but hope he’ll have some time to see his family again. It’d be nice to see Ferris again and talk with his father. Though he doesn’t like being away from them for so long, sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s just his job.
It’s also why he never talks about it with Samuel. He doesn’t want to create a conflict of interest in his friend like that. At the end of the cycle, they are friends, no matter their duties. He doesn’t need Samuel concerning himself with Devin’s family.
He strides back to the front of the tent, lifting one the flaps partially and calling, “Are you ready?”
“One moment,” Samuel replies from within.
Just as the prince steps out into the open air, his hair much more neatly brushed, the rest of the guards appear, ready for the long march to the castle.
Samuel points to one of the guards. “You. Stay and work on getting these refugees food and blankets.”
The guard does a sharp bow in reply and hurries away.
“Right, then,” Samuel sighs, turning to face the castle in the distance, “let’s get walking.”