Chapter Three: Hangover

  I can hear a fire going, but it’s far away… instead the sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore fills my ears. The sand scrapes against my tentacles as they glide across the beach… I am hunting for creatures that stray too close to the shore. I hide in the surf, looking up at the stars rippling above me, scheming for the day they will be mine.

  Something is poking my face, I flail awake, get tangled in my pack, the same one I’d been half-snuggling, half-using as a pillow and very neatly fall over myself. Blinking up blearily, I see the deserter leader standing over me, a crooked grin plastered across his face. He’s been prodding me with an engraved silver fork, and is now spinning it through his fingers like a juggler showing off his best trick. Using his free hand, he wafts a plate of food in front of me enticingly.

  I try to sit up, and let out a groan as the hangover of mana depletion hits me. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that leaves me feeling like I’ve been marching and haven't slept or eaten in days. Stretching, I arch my back and let out a satisfied, “Blaaaarrrrrg.”

  The leader’s expression resists my antics, “You aux’s ‘r a strange bunch,” he mutters, offering me the fork handle-first with a flourish. When I reach for it, he doesn’t let go immediately, leaning in closer to study my face. “How can you sleep so soundly with that cursed thing in your pack?”

  I blink at him, caught off guard, but before I can answer, he lets the fork go abruptly, and I stumble backward a bit, barely catching myself. He chuckles, handing me the plate with a smug grin.

  The food is simple, a cut of freshly cooked meat, a few scavenged tubers, and a fat grilled mushroom, but my stomach doesn’t care about presentation. “Thanks for the food!” I mumble around a mouthful, shoveling it in with the enthusiasm of a starved animal. As the flavors mix haphazardly in my mouth, I feel the core stirring faintly in my mind, its alien instincts probing at the edges of my awareness… holding approval? Hunger? Humor? I vaguely note the strangeness of feeling its thoughts without holding it, but I set the sensation aside, too absorbed in my meal to think about it.

  The leader watches me eat, his expression torn between amusement and mild horror, but at least he waits until my plate is empty to speak. He looks at me squarely, clearly annoyed to have this conversation, “Look Sage, you ‘elped me men…” He gestures around the group of deserters… most of them had needed healing in one way or another, all of whom were now watching my exchange with their leader with undisguised interest. The leader grunts, “Con’t rob ya now, nah even if you had anythin’ worth takin, ‘sides that cursed stone anyway.” The leader’s body shakes for a moment as if he is fighting against some dark memory, “What’er that thing is, we wan’ no part o it.” The leader crooks his head, “The question is, wha’r you ganna do now?”

  I wipe my mouth with a cloth from my cloak's many pockets, taking a moment before answering, “Well,” I say, leaning back back on my elbows, “First I’m headed to the Crooked Lantern Inn down the way.” I glance at him with a raised brow, “Hopefully they’ll have some work I can do for a few more days’ rations.” His expression shifts, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “After that, off to Fallowhold to start my life over again, hopefully the right way this time.” I take a breath, meeting his gaze. “You know… you guys could come with me. I could vouch for you, maybe you could hire on as caravan guards or something.” I gesture around the forest, “You don’t have to live like this.”

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  The leader laughs, shaking his head, “Sage, nah een with yer ‘elp can we do tha’… Yer not the first we ‘ave held up.” He sighs, “Nah… the only reason we ‘aven’t been caught an’ hung is ‘cause our legion was scattered.” He gets a far away look for a moment, “The countryside is full of deserters Sage… it was bad…” The leader grinds his teeth, “Them noble bastards, they promised us we would be fightin’ to protect our homes.”

  He stands suddenly and begins pacing in front of the smoldering fire, his voice rising with anger. “Only three months on the march…” he clenches his fists, “Three months of lousy trainin’ and then they sent my unit, full of greenies just like Tavian there,” he waves his hand towards the young man whose foot I had started with last night. Tavian, startled at being called out, nearly drops something he was holding, and gives me a shy smile. The leader continues his rant, “Right to the front lines! We were nothin’ but meat to grind. Jus’ A wall to slow those horrible… things… We were just a distraction Sage.” He spits into the fire, “We won’ go back, it’s not right.”

  I wince, the truth of his words cutting deep. I’ve been in those planning rooms, where the “Nobles” and the “Heroes” tallied lives like they were inventory, where decisions about supplies were made with cold efficiency. I give him a moment to catch his breath, then softly say, “You’re right, you can’t go back.” I pause, “Nor should you.”

  He stops pacing, his expression changing to surprise, clearly not expecting me to agree with him, I go on, “It’s not right, wasting a man's life for the pursuit of wealth or pride.” I sigh, “I would have left the aux too if I hadn’t felt so… stuck… so many more would have died if I had...” I smile at the leader, “What they did to you, to all of us… it’s not right.” I gesture around at his men, “But if you keep living like this, it’ll kill you just the same.” I hold the leader's gaze, demanding honesty from him. “If you won’t come to the inn with me, then what’s your plan?”

  He runs a hand through his greasy hair. “We’ll manage.” His voice quieter now, like he is trying to convince himself, his gaze softens as he looks at his men. “Maybe we’ll ‘ead deeper inta the woods. Find some old ruin to ‘ole up in. Build a place for us… for people who need somewheres ta go.” The hesitation in his tone is faint but unmistakable. “We’ll manage…” his voice trails off.

  Suddenly, his resolve firms, and he offers me a hand up, pulling me to my feet with surprising strength. “Ur a strange one, Sage,” he says with a crooked grin. “But maybe tha’s nah a bad thing.”

  With a sharp whistle, he signals his men to pack up. They gather around him, casting glances in my direction as they fall in line. Before he disappears into the forest, he turns back to me one last time. “Tao’s luck in yer new life, Sage. Maybe you’ll manage ta do some good out there.” He nods, and takes his leave, followed by his men.

  The last to go is Tavian. He shuffles over to me, fidgeting nervously, before holding out his hands. I tilt my head, curious, and reach out my own, he drops a small wooden figurine into my open palm. I turn the carving over in my hands, marveling at the detail, it's a wonderfully stylized crow, the tiny grooves of its wings, the proud tilt of its head, I murmur little appreciations as I examine it.

  Tavian salutes me, clench fist to his chest, his shy smile growing bolder. “Thank ye Sage. I won’ forget wha’ ya done fer me.”

  Before I can reply, he turns and runs to catch up with his unit.

  As he disappears into the trees, I tuck the little bird into my pocket, hoping they have a brighter future ahead of them.