* * *
Rising smoke from smoldering fires produced sickly clouds of dismal gray that hung above the battlefield like funeral shrouds. From the hills above, Treston could see the entire valley of death that the freshly fallen snow was attempting to disguise. The war had moved beyond the ridge and only an occasional distant rumble of cannon fire reminded him of continued fighting.
Traffic snarled when they had reached a bottleneck in the valley just to the south of where it broke into the broad plain. Treston took the opportunity to excuse himself and, thanking the driver for the ride, started his journey back to where his heart was leading him. He brushed aside his yearnings to revisit the battlefield as that of being a good officer.
A good officer not only studies the terrain for battle, he or she will return afterward to examine how it affected the battle’s outcome - at least it was what Treston concluded regarding the burning in his heart - that is, until he found his feet retracing his steps from the previous day, for it took him not only on a soldier’s journey to rediscover the field, but on one that helped with the discovery of himself.
Treston’s heart took him over the rise of hills and down toward the valley below. The winter storm had changed the landscape by laying a thick blanket of snow over it. But this did not deter the colonel in his quest. His heart knew where to lead him.
He soon found himself kneeling beside the woman who had died in his arms. Pulling the snow-covered coat away from her face, Treston stared at her for some time. She appeared as if peacefully sleeping, showing no sign of the agony suffered not many hours before. Porcelain white was her skin, made that much more pale framed by her dark, auburn hair.
Who was she? He was torn with curiosity. Pulling the coat open, Treston searched the woman’s bloody jacket, hoping to find some telltale bit of information concerning her. In one pocket he found a small locket neatly wrapped in yellowed paper.
The paper had writing on it in a script unfamiliar to Treston, but the ancient locket was more touching. Pushing the button, the cover snapped open displaying a crystal-encased picture of the woman when she was but a child, hugging Lowenah. On the inside cover was a name written in the same script found on the paper. Feeling guilty at first, the colonel rewrapped the locket and stuffed it in his pocket.
Searching further, Treston found the woman’s identification tag, with her name and picture. “Contorie...ContorieDamalis.” He said aloud.
After pinning the tag to the woman’s collar, Treston gently and caringly pulled the coat up to her neck. He stood, and spoke as if the woman were only sleeping. “Well, Contorie, allow me, please, this little memento of your acquaintance. May we meet again during more peaceful times and under more pleasant circumstances.” Treston slowly turned away and again took up the trail.
There seemed to be no hurry in the colonel’s gait as he descended toward the valley plain. He felt more like a man on a raft viewing the after-effects of a storm-tossed sea. The flotsam and jetsam of war surrounded him, so much of it now hidden under foaming waves of snow. Then there were hundreds of rescuers roving to and fro over this quieted expanse, searching for survivors. All the while, the wreckage of humanity silently drifted under the surface, patiently waiting to be gathered home.
It was almost peaceful here this day. Few people trod the upper hills where he walked, having been scoured for wounded long before the battle moved out of the valley. The dead were very patient. None had complained about being left behind. Treston nodded. That was the way with patient people, always being put last. The noisy ones seemed to get the attention. ‘The squeaky wheel gets the grease’ or something like that.
There was also the occasional gunshot that disturbed the quiet. Treston concluded it to be the demise of a dying horse or possibly an enemy combatant found alive on the field. The colonel didn’t question High Command’s decisions. Indeed, at the time, he gave them little attention, thinking them quite reasonable.
(Author’s note: Issued as ‘General Order #7’ by Field Marshal Trisha and supported by Admiral of the Fleet Gabrielle, Commodore General Planetee and Centurion General Sarah, it could be summed up thusly:
The taking of prisoners was to be the decision of the commanding officer in the field. If he or she chose to make no dictation, the choice would fall upon the lieutenants. If they gave no directives, then it would continue to fall on more junior officers on down until reaching the individual soldier. Never was an enemy captive to be tortured. A bullet to the brain was not considered torture, one to the stomach was.
Once officially a prisoner, certain rules of conduct applied. A prisoner of war was not to be starved, beaten, or intentionally deprived of shelter or medical supplies. On the other hand, no soldier of the Children’s Empire was to suffer harm, lack of medical care, food, or shelter, for the primary benefit of prisoners.
As long as prisoners conducted themselves peacefully, and in accordance with the standing rules dictated by their captors, they would be allowed the freedom to care for their own medical, household, and hygienic needs.
The final part of Order #7 gave the prisoners’ overseers decision-making abilities to conclude what, if any, punishments were to be meted out to prisoners in violation of established rules. In these cases, should any such punishment decided upon be that of death, or become the cause of death of an official prisoner, then a proper inquiry concerning the matter was mandated.
Order #7 has received more criticism than any other rule set down by High Command. Needless to say, it comes from armchair historians who have never had the opportunity to see their close companions tortured, mutilated, and butchered at the hands of an enemy who scoffed at any rules of conduct.
It had been reported that at the Council of Eighty, Lowenah intimated that every enemy combatant deserved no less than death. And there was many a soldier serving at that time who made sure no prisoners were taken on their watch, feeling that Order #7 was in contradiction to her words.)
Treston eventually made his way to the pile of rocks he and the little group of soldiers had collected together for their defense. Searching the ground nearby, he found the sniper rifle where it was thrown when he ran to help Alynnou. A thorough examination convinced him it was undamaged. Digging in the snow, he also found two full clips of bullets and a shoulder belt with several dozen more in it.
The rifle was one that had come from Major Garlock’s design team. It was no frills in appearance and deadly crude in efficiency. Treston thought just how fortuitous it had been that the major spent most of his time before the war designing and experimenting with his toys.
Although weapons of similar nature existed long ago, they had been ornately handcrafted for individuals, not for ninety-day armies. If Garlock had waited for official permission to start designing his weapons, little more than spears and knives would have been made at his mass production factories by the time the war started. Without Garlock’s wonder weapons, the army on MueoPoros would have certainly failed in its attempt to take and hold its positions.
Hefting the rifle and sighting through its scope, Treston smiled, “You take care of me and I’ll take care of you.” He paused, thinking. “What shall I call you? Better, what name shall I give to you? I’ve got it. You shall be called ‘ContorieAnasao - the song maiden lives again’.” Throwing the rifle over his shoulder by its strap, Treston began to whistle as he trudged toward the valley floor.
On his journey, he passed by the three dead commandos that ContorieAnasao – affectionately called ‘Contorie’ later on – had dispatched and on down the ravine to the twisted wreck of PalaHar’s command car. There, Treston paused to ponder the moment.
Why did the commandos focus on this one area? Drumming his fingers on his bearded chin, the colonel leaned against the command car, recreating the previous morning in his mind. After much pondering, he concluded that a homing device of some kind had been planted in this machine or on one of the people. He
doubted it was the machine because they had borrowed it from General DinChizki. He couldn’t believe it was in or on any of their clothing. Had that been the case, the gunships would have come directly at them on the hill.
Treston reflected on events earlier that same day. The commandos who overran the camp went straight for Ishtar. Why? She was a stranger to most people. Only a handful even knew who she was.
He then thought about something he noticed the first night his little company arrived on MueoPoros. They were all sitting around a glowing campfire, sharing some good times. Ishtar, being the chatterbox she was, took over the show telling silly little stories from her childhood in ancient Ephesus, wildly gesturing as she did. PalaHar watched her closely, curiosity growing on his face.
He finally asked her, “Child, I see that you have two different jeweled pins in your ears. Tell me, did you lose the one and replace it?”
Ishtar reached up to her left ear, grinning in the way people do when they possess a secret reserved for no other person. “Nooo…this is a gift…well, sorta a gift…from a very special friend.”
PalaHar then asked, “May I see this sorta gift?”
Hesitant at first, Ishtar finally said ‘yes’. When she tried to remove it, it was stuck in place. After a few attempts, PalaHar told her not to bother and dropped the matter. Treston began to think it might have been a matter better to have been remembered.
Snapping his fingers, Treston jumped up. “That’s it!” He shouted. “That’s why they came here first!”
He wildly searched the area looking for a very important something that remained here when his group fled up the ravine - Ishtar’s ear. Finding nothing, the colonel again wondered a moment. Then looking back up the hill, he spied the fallen gunship. It was possible…just maybe possible…
Retracing his steps, Treston hurried back up the ravine to the charred and broken gunship. It was a gruesome sight, the dead in every stage of disrepair, but the colonel began digging into the mess in hopes of finding proof for his assumption. After a lengthy effort, he was richly rewarded.
Rummaging through a torn coat belonging to a sergeant, Treston found a bloodied rag and a tiny hand-held device with a pointer dial and several lights. Inside the rag, he found part of an ear with a jeweled pin locked into it. Treston sat down and started playing with the device. Pushing a large green button activated a bright red light. Rotating the pointer toward and then away from the ear changed the blinking of the light.
There was no longer a question in his mind as to how they had been tracked. Now he wondered as to who might have done this. Ishtar was almost never alone, always surrounded by trustworthy people. And the pin wasn’t noticed until landing on MueoPoros. Whoever gave her the pin, inserting it in her ear and locking it so securely knew it would have to be cut out to remove it.
Treston had many questions to ponder. He wanted to see Ishtar as soon as possible, but it would likely do little good for awhile anyway. She was badly hurt and might be unable to help for some time. The girl could still be in danger, though, especially if this was an inside job, which Treston thought it to be. He decided to sit tight on his information until he could find one of the Eighty. That was the safest thing to do.
Having no desire to keep such a gruesome trophy, Treston removed the pin from the ear. Placing both the tracking device and pin in a clean rag, he tucked the rag deep into his coat pocket.
What was he to do? Should he go back over the hill and attempt a ride to PrasiaOdous or should he continue to follow a still restless heart? He chose the way of his heart and proceeded back down the ravine to the valley floor.
Treston retraced his steps and soon found himself back at the wrecked command car. Pulling a torn seat cushion from it, he took his lunch, pouring hot drink from the vacuum flask and removing still fresh biscuits from the bag. He allowed his mind to drift back to the cozy little room he shared with Geffen and Azriela and smiled at the biscuit in his hand, filled with butter and jam. “Thank you, my friends, thank you so much.”
His years of being a professional warrior gave Treston the ability to block out things he didn’t want to remember at the moment. This allowed him the pleasure of reminiscing over the good times with companions long since departed. He smacked his lips, thanking the two for a wonderful meal.
Before finishing his lunch, the sky had cleared and a warm gentle breeze began blowing up from the south. Even with all the devastation and carnage surrounding him, the day took on a freshness that lifted his spirits. Treston wrapped up the remaining food - a very generous amount worth several more meals - and packed the vacuum flask into the bag beside it. With the bag over one shoulder and Contorie over his other, he began anew his heart’s journey.
Through the course of the afternoon, the colonel rambled this way and that over the torn and jumbled field of battle as he continued to make his way north. Occasionally he would come across a small group of rescuers rummaging around broken machines in their quest to find remaining survivors or he would see work crews already scavenging parts for other equipment. No one bothered him. They were too busy tending to their own duties, having no time to show interest in the wanderings of a stranger.
Treston eventually entered a part of the field where the action had been the heaviest. He felt more like a child making his way through a labyrinth of burned out hulks and twisted mountains of steel. His eyes beheld the bodies of horses and men stacked like cordwood in heaps. And there were the strangest of giant beasts with horns and plated armor. The colonel could only marvel at the glorious amount of murder and destruction contained in such a tiny place on this vast planet.
Off to his side, Treston noted the sunlight glinting off some object half-buried in the snow. As he walked toward it, the sparkling colors would change from gold to blue to red to green, back to gold. Coming to the spot where the sun had been playing, he noticed the point of some sort of sharp-edged weapon. Curious, the colonel reached down and dug it from the snow. The weapon was a broad sword about one and a half long cubits total in length.
Treston watched, transfixed, as some kind of strange fire inside the metal rippled up and down the blade. The beauty of the weapon drew Treston to it. When he held it by the grip, it was as if he found himself transported back in time to when his wife handed him a finely engraved sword she had hand-crafted especially for him. Its heft was light and well balanced, as if it were an extension of his own arm.
An unsettling noise behind him exploded in Treston’s mind. He was so absorbed in his discovery, he stopped paying heed to the fact that this place was still very much a battlefield and there was no guarantee that all the enemy were removed from it. Chills ran up and down his spine as he waited to hear the sound again. Then he chose not to linger in doubt. Spinning around while lifting the sword high with both hands, Treston readied himself to strike at any possible attacker.
Much to his relief and disquiet, Treston saw a man dressed in armor like those in Chasileah’s Glitter Brigade. It was disturbing to him to think that a man leading a horse had been able to sneak up to within a few paces and him totally oblivious to them. He was relieved to see that the man appeared to be an ally. But then relief was replaced by shock.
The man grinned. “Welcome, TrestonOikos-phulaxHegemon. I have been expecting you...”
Treston lowered the sword. Puzzled and bewildered, he asked, “Who are you?”
The man only smiled.
‘Oikos-phulaxHegemon’ - ‘keeper of the governor’s house or estate’? Only a person from his day would know such a thing. Yet all the people from this world were alive then. So what did the man mean by his reference to Treston’s former days?
The colonel stared at the man, studying him closely. There was a familiarity about him, but Treston couldn’t recall anything specific. “Who are you?”
The man crouched in a squatting position and with his finger played in the snow. “The firelight of days
gone by will light the path of times to come. We walk upon a jagged sky in search of all the reasons why.”
“You…!” Treston’s mind erupted with distant memories - memories of a long forgotten night in a lost and forgotten wild land. “Have you also come from the worlds beyond to be brought to this place with me? Your name, oh brother of mine, what is your name?”
The man said nothing.
Treston’s mind reeled. He was barely out of his teens at the time. The night was bitter cold and he was struggling to stay alive. His fellow soldiers had abandoned him on the field while retreating from the Gauls who went in hot pursuit. In the darkness, he managed to hide as those of the enemy who remained behind butchered the wounded and mutilated the dead. Eventually he had crawled off into the foreboding forest.
Further and further into the winter evergreen wood he meandered until he no longer heard the shouts and cries from the distant field. Then on he went some more. About the time he reached the point of exhaustion and feeling that death was coming soon, Treston noticed a golden fire blazing a little way off. Using the last of his strength, he managed his way there. Seeing a man dressed like a soldier of the emperor, Treston called out for help.
There was little else to remember. The man did not speak. There was a cony roasting over the fire and a flask of wine nearby. Motioning for Treston to eat and drink, the man patiently waited, watching the boy as he consumed the food. When finished, the man tended the boy’s wounds and covered him with an animal fur. Then the man got up and crossed to the other side of the fire.
There was little else to remember except…except the riddling rhyme.
‘The firelight of days gone by, will light the path of times to come.
We walk upon a jagged sky, in search of all the reasons why.’
But there were other verses. Now Treston remembered, finishing the riddle aloud.
“A maiden born in coming days, shall fire your heart, your soul to save.
And by your brutal strength of might, you’ll bring her harm then do her right.
Although a queen she will come to be, and sons from her the king will see,
Upon a bed of hemlock down to make your son, the maiden’s bound.
And she will build a mountain high, a Fortress Memphis in the sky.
Upon those hills will your children play, and you shall watch them many days.”
“And then you walked away. And I never saw you again.” Treston asked anew, “Who are you?!”
Dropping the reins of the horse, the man stepped forward, pointing to the sword. “Its name is Ysuah, meaning ‘deliverance’. It was the possession of VanGoddawin, one of the mighty Seraphim of old.” The man directed Treston’s attention to a body laying a little way off. “It is yours now. He would want it that way.”
The man turned away and walked back to the horse. “This is SastelloPhantasma, ‘Wind Spirit’, one of the KaminosKtisis from the secret lands of LathraNesion. Bred and raised by the Cherubs, there is not another animal in the kingdom of men greater than this beast. SastelloPhantasma shall serve you well on your future journeys.”
Leaving the horse, the man went to the body of VanGoddawin and removed his bejeweled sword belt, handing it to Treston. “Go now, Treston from the Realms Below. Many things have become your possessions this day but you must remember to guard the living flesh that is still in your charge. My daughters, Ishtar and Alynnou, must be kept safe by your hand.”
The man raised his arm. “Journey to the north to find the army. Stay with it a fortnight and then return to my daughters. Search out this good land for into your hand as an inheritance it is being given. Your children will one day establish a great tower where you do stand. And a city to you, their father, and to my two daughters they will build. And they will call this place ‘AionEirene’ - ‘Eternal Peace’.”
Then the man cautioned, “The counsel of the wise is not always wisdom. The good may act wickedly. There comes a time when only the heart can shine a light in a dark place. Your journey is filled with perils. Now is the time to seek the firelight of ages gone by. It will guide your feet across the jagged sky.”
Treston thanked the man. He opened his long overcoat and slipped the belt around his waist, glancing down to fasten the buckle. “Tell me, please, what is your na…”
Treston looked up to see that the man was gone. He searched in every direction but there was no one. His hands began to tremble with excitement and wonder. The words the man had spoken suddenly rushed in upon his mind like waters from a bursting dam. It was all too overwhelming for him.
Treston sat down in the snow and wept…