Courage Plumb

The violet sky hung blithely over Crimson Guard encampment. A hushed calm pervaded the makeshift camp; the meadow that lay a half-day’s journey beyond the confines of Village #94 provided a brief respite for Guards prior to the morrow’s relocation. As usual, the company divided into three sections, which allowed for a rotation of duties. Under the darkness of night, the Guards from two sections rested while the third section stood sentry. The poised Guards stood in stark contrast to the frantic villagers scurrying through the village. An important day awaited the company, and they needed their rest.

  Squad Leader 7 looked toward the lavender moons and noted the unusual occurrence. As a member of the Crimson Guards and as a low-tiered supervisor, he spent many evenings “on duty,” which meant he spent many nights supervising the night watch, which meant he spent many nights gazing upon the celestial bodies. Q7, the name others called him, knew the rarity of two lilac moons. Two decades ago, Q7 might spend his evenings plotting his promotions through the ranks of the Crimson Guard but no longer. He, like most everyone else, started as a Common Guard, or CG. He quickly moved from the introductory level, CG10 to CG9 to CG8 … to CG1, the final stage before promotion to Squad Leader. On this evening, however, Q7 thought nothing of how his dreams derailed nineteen years ago. One fateful decision froze his promotion process, and since then, Q7 resigned himself to being a bottom-tiered supervisor.

  Q7 gazed into the nighttime sky, trying to enthrall himself with an otherwise boring job. The sky is amazing, he thought. It shows a creator’s touch. He knew, however, to keep this thought within the secrecy of his own mind. Squad Leaders angling for promotion to Sub-Division Leader spent their shifts patrolling alongside the CGs; they often chased shadows and self-projected phantoms in an effort to appear diligent, proactive, and invective – the Crimson Guard placed high value on deriding subordinates. Q7, however, spent his evenings casually waiting for the rare occurrence when something interesting happened.

  CG1 rushed toward his stargazing, gray-haired supervisor and interrupted the silence, “Q7, CG3 reports a girl from the village approached him during his last perimeter patrol. He reports the girl warned of imminent attack upon our company. A small band of villagers plan to attack us this very night.”

  Q7 snapped to attention at the information. For the first time in years, he finally experienced something interesting. He spoke in an authoritative tone, “Where is this girl now?”

  “She remains with CG3. He wanted to bring her directly to you, but I refused. I explain to him that you must first be contacted before bringing a prisoner to you.”

  “Excellent work, CG1, your file will reflect your commitment to protocol.” The young man beamed for a moment before corralling his glee. The smiled disappeared from his face as he refocused his efforts to maintain a professional countenance at all times. “Bring her to me. I will speak with her.”

 

  The two Common Guards, CG1 and CG3, marched toward Q7. A terrified girl walked in between the two guards. Her blond curls bobbed from side to side. The girl’s eyes twitched from guard to guard, examining the gleaming hilt of the scabbard-covered glowing blade on both of their hips. She occasionally slowed her pace, only for CG3 to nudge her onward. Her puffy red eyes revealed recent tear-filled moments. Her shoulders slumped.

  Q7 greeted her with a question, “What is your name?”

  “Bianca … Bianca Waters,” the girl sniffled.

  “Did you tell one the guards about an ‘imminent attack’ upon our encampment?”

  Bianca sniffed some more. She tried to speak but began to hyperventilate. Instead of speaking words, she gasped for air to breathe. After a few unsuccessful attempts to talk, she opted to nod her head in affirmation.

  “And how did you come to know this information?”

  Bianca sniffed and choked some more, but finally managed to squeeze out a few words. I heard some people making plans. I could tell they planned to attack you this evening.”

  “Oh,” said Q7, “and where were you when you these ‘people’ making these ‘plans’?”

  “On the street,” Bianca lied. “I was walking behind them on the main village path, and I overhead their discussion.” Bianca lied, as she planned before arriving. She believed that if she were completely honest, then the Protectorate might consider her culpable for discussing revolt with her revolutionary companions.

  “Ridiculous,” said Q7. “Do you think me a fool? I am not a gullible simpleton. Do you really expect me to believe some villagers are planning revolts, and they are making these plans on the main village path? Either, you are not telling me truth (which is likely the case) or these revolutionaries are so dimwitted that they pose no threat to the Protectorate.”

  “I am telling the truth,” sniffed Bianca.

  “Ridiculous” said Q7. “You, little girl, are trying to deceive me. The Protectorate frowns upon people trying to deceive its officials, and there are consequences for your actions. Do you want to hear about these consequences?”

  Bianca shook her head from side to side. Fear paralyzed the rest of her body.

  “Unless you say something to convince me that you speak the truth, then we will discuss the consequences for lying to me and wasting my time. Do you have anything to say that will convince me of the truth?”

  Q7 gave Bianca a few seconds to answer. When she said nothing, he motioned to CG4 and said, “Make ready the chains.”

  Bianca furiously thought of anything she might say. What did she know that would convince the Crimson Guard supervisor and thereby, turn their wrath away from her and toward Talon Sunsculptor and his companions? Finally, she remembered a passing phrase from Talon that might help, “Book of Epiphany.” The words rolled easily from her tongue. Q7’s dismissive countenance immediately shifted toward acute interest. Bianca dried her tears. She was safe.

  “What did you say?” asked Q7.

  “I said ‘Book of Epiphany’.”

  “I thought so. Come with me. We have much to talk about.”

  The words “Book of Epiphany” resonated immediately with Q7. As part of his training in the Crimson Guard, supervisors – even low-level ones likes Q7 – received instruction on being wary for a handful of items. These “veiled nemeses,” as they were called, were viewed as the archenemies of the Protectorate. Their whereabouts, however, were unknown. In the forty years since the Protectorate’s establishment of Centage City, no person ever uncovered a “veiled nemeses.” Many came to believe these nemeses were really the imaginative fantasies rooted in the less sophisticated minds of the previous age, and accordingly, the Protectorate showed little concerns for finding these items. While supervisors in the Crimson Guard learned of these archenemies, the instruction displayed formality rather than practicality. Guards learned oodles of seemingly useless information, and most supervisors treated the information on “veiled nemeses” as a speck within the heap of pointless dribble.

  Q7 marveled to himself that he even remembered the term, but for reasons unknown to him, the phrase “Book of Epiphany” fascinated him. When he first heard the Book of Epiphany was a “veiled nemesis,” he marveled at the power possessed by a single book. The thought that consumed him years ago once again flooded back to his mind. How, he wondered, could a single written document pose any threat to the mighty Protectorate? Further, there is little chance any other supervisor would remember this obscure fact from their training, but as it so happens, this girl mentions this phrase to me rather than to anyone else. Q7 quickly jettisoned these thoughts from his mind and shifted his efforts toward reporting the immensely important finding. Perhaps, he now wondered, I might finally receive a promotion.

  In the Crimson Guard, all personnel follow the chain of command, especially in regards to information. Just as the Common Guards, CG3 and CG1, brought Bianca to their Squad Leader, Q7 was now expected to bring his report to the highest-tier Squad Leader, Q1, but with information this important, Q7 might skip the fellow Squad Leader and in
stead, bring the information to a low-tier Sub-Division Leader like SD4. For the members of the Crimson Guard, promotions correlated to a Guard’s deftness in acquiring information and navigating the chain of command. A person astute in both aspects rapidly moved up the ranks, whereas clumsy decisions hindered professional advancement – just like Q7. Guards faced the challenging task of, first, acquiring information, which often required a process of bribing/coercing/deceiving subordinates for information. Second, guards then needed to bring the information to the right person. An immediate supervisor might take complete credit for the information, despite its actual source, but skipping over “links” on the chain of command inevitably kindled the ire of every skipped supervisors. To level jump with information, a guard must be certain the information’s value defrayed this inevitable ire. A miscalculation left the guard at the mercy of an irate supervisor, who typically touted this misstep by making an example of the subordinate. To never level jump with information, however, reduced a Guard to being a conduit, which meant no recognition and thus, no promotions.

  Since the stagnation of Q7’s promotion trajectory nearly two decades previously, he never parlayed information for recognition. He accepted his permanent placement as Q7 and opted for the role of “conduit,” lest he risk the wrath of his supervisors in an effort to achieve an impossible reward. On this night, however, Q7 considered skipping Q3 and even, Q1. Perhaps, he thought, I should bring this information to high ranked Sub-Division Leader, or, even, a Division Leader. No Guard, absolutely no Guard, ever jumped more than one level with information – at least guards interested in promotion. To jump more than one level meant infuriating too many supervisors. Even when breaking the chain of command, guards followed certain protocols. No Guard dared violate the unwritten rules for violating the established rules.

  Q7 began to look for SD4 and relay the girl’s use of “Book of Epiphany.” He reached SD4’s tent and began to bellow, “Sub-Division Leader 4, your presence is requested by Q7.” Before the words slipped from his mouth, Q7 changed his mind. He thought of his wife and two children; they lived in Centage City. As a member of the Crimson Guard, he seldom saw them. He missed his wife’s cheerful face and the chuckles from his children. As a low ranking, bottom-tier, and non-advancing supervisor in the Crimson Guard, Q7 was an embarrassment, at least by the standards of the Protectorate. While he oversaw Common Guards, society revered the CGs as the standard of faithful, diligent contributors for the advancement of the Protectorate. Citizens looked upon them as simple-minded individuals who forsook their own pursuits for the glory of the Protectorate. What they lacked in intelligence, they overcame with valor. Supervisors in the Crimson Guard, however, were considered natural leaders with innate intelligence. Many received fine educations. Fellow citizens considered them the standard-bearers for society who should, because of their many privileges, lead in the advancement of the Protectorate. Centagians (the name given to people from Centage City) looked upon Q7, by virtue of his leveled promotion trajectory juxtaposed with a low rank, as an embarrassment. To the outside, he looked like some who squandered his potential, and for a society based upon self-advancement, no greater dishonored existed than to squander self-potential. Q7, by all appearance, wasted his potential and, in essence, spat upon the Protectorate’s investment in him. Q7’s wife and two children, ages ten and nine, however, loved him dearly. Any other women would have left Q7 years ago in effort to disentangle her own self-advancement from his dishonor. His wife, however, remained with him. Q7 cherished his family and wanted desperately for them to experience pride in him. They gave up so much to stay with him, and he wanted to reward their faithfulness. With this thought in mind, he bypassed the tent of SD4 and then bypassed tent of SD1 and then bypassed the tent of DL1, the highest-level Division Leader and second ranking person in their company.

  Q7 approached the CGs patrolling the entrance to Commander Lupier’s tent.

  “What business do you have here, Q7?” demanded one of the guards.

  Q7 spoke boldly, “I need to speak with Commander Lupier.”

  “It’s the middle of the night; it can wait until morning.”

  “No, it cannot,” said Q7.

  “Are you saying that you want me to wake the Commander?”

  “Yes,” demanded Q7.

  “If I wake him on your orders and he finds your reasons lacking, then you may spend the rest of your life supervising dung beetles.”

  Q7 knew the CG spoke the truth. While his current life seemed undesirable, a serious mistake involving Commander Lupier might forfeit the final vestiges of his personal honor. Would his wife and children still love him, thought Q7?

  “Wake him. Now!” bellowed Squad Leader 7. Q7 intentionally screamed loud enough to wake Commander Lupier. The subtle move protected the CGs from retribution should the commander find Q7’s information lacking. If the commander found favor in Q7’s information, the CGs would benefit from serving as connectors to vital information. If the commander thought little of the information, then the responsibility would not fall upon the CG because refused to wake the commander. Despite Q7’s lack of promotions, he actually understood the nuance within the ranks of the Crimson Guard.

  The bleary-eyed commander emerged from his tent. He wore loose fitting pajamas, a strange site since every other guard slept in their uniform. Commander Lupier rubbed his eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts. He finally escaped his slumbering mind and queried the CGs patrolling the exterior of his tent, “Why am I being woken in the middle of the night?”

  “Commander, Q7 comes to see you. He claims to have vital information that cannot wait until morning. His screams woke you.” The CG-in-charge took deep breaths in an effort to calm his demeanor. His heart thumped in his chest, fearful at the consequences for waking the commander.

  “Since I am awake, and Q7 seems to think it is important, send him to my meeting tent. I will convene with him there in a few minutes.”

  The commander disappeared into his tent, ostensibly to change his attire. The CG motioned toward the tent next to them; Q7 followed his hand motion and entered the small tent. He entered a dark, one-room structure. A CG followed directly behind and lit a small candle lying on the center of a small, wooden table. Four chairs surrounded the square table. The CG motioned to the chair closest to the exit and expected Q7 to sit, which he did, and then, Q7 waited for Commander Lupier to enter the tent.

  The commander strolled into the room, and before even sitting, asked, “Why did you wake me in the middle of the night.”

  Q7 nervously stumbled over a few words. While he tried to rehearse his statement to the commander, these efforts netted no benefit to the nervous squad leader who was violating numerous regulations and countless unwritten rules by conferencing with the Commander.

  “Calm down,” said Commander Lupier. “I assume you have some important reason, at least it seems important to you, for speaking with me this evening. So just say it.”

  “Yes, well, um, uh, well,” stuttered Q7. Exasperation consumed Lupier’s countenance. The commander stood and took two steps toward the door. The words, “CG, please remove this man from my tent” were just about to exit his mouth when Q7 blurted the one phrase he came to say, “Book of Epiphany.”

  The color from Lupier’s face disappeared; his pink skin turned ashen white. He returned to the table and sat down, “What did you say?”

  “Book of Epiphany.”

  “Why?”

  “A girl arrived in our camp this evening. She claimed some villagers were planning an attack upon us. She spoke of their plans, which seemed juvenile and thus, no threat to us. She did say, however, the villagers mentioned the “Book of Epiphany.” Upon hearing this reference, I immediately knew this matter needed to be reported.”

  “Very wise of you,” agreed Lupier. “Tell me, why are you reporting this to me and not your supervisor?”

  “I feared they would not remember the Book of Epiphany from your our tra
ining. It is an obscure fact, and I believed they might not recognize its importance, and thus, not tell their supervisor.”

  Commander Lupier smiled broadly, “Once again, very wise of you. I agree with your assessment. Not many of us are vigilant in rooting out the ‘veiled-nemeses’ of the Protectorate.”

  Q7 grinned, but just for a moment. Perhaps, he thought, I will finally receive a promotion. Wouldn’t it surprise my wife and children? Q7 quickly replaced his grin with a chiseled, emotionless expression.

  “What information did this girl tell you? Did she mention an attack?” asked Lupier

  “Yes,” responded a fully composed Q7. “She provided no specifics. She claims to have overheard this information on the village street.”

  “If you were in my position,” asked Commander Lupier, “what would you do?”

  The question served as a haymaker to Q7. No person ever asked his opinion. Higher-tiered supervisors gave him directions, and he, in turn, gave direction to common guards. Never, though, did his task requiring conferring with others. For the first time in almost two decades, someone asked his opinion, and as it so happened, this person was the company’s commander.

  Q7 paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. His bold tone disguised the anxiety within him. “Commander Lupier, if I were in your position, (Q7 remember some of his training from years ago. When unsure how to answer a question, repeat the question to provide more time to think of an answer.) I would not consider this ‘imminent attack’ to be a serious threat. Any insurrectionists who allow a child to overhear their plans pose no threat to the Protectorate. Following our scheduled plans for relocation will ultimately thwart their plans. The most efficient means to unravel this rebel brigade, if it does exist, is to proceed as usual. Since they cannot stop us, any response on our part only gives credence to their movement. Additionally, it remains possible that the girl is a plant. Insurrectionists may be using her to deceive us, and thereby, manipulate a response from us, a response they no doubt plan to use against us. Given that possibility, then once again, not changing our plans benefits us because we avoid the potential for manipulation.”

  “Yes,” interrupted Commander Lupier, “I applaud your reasoning and agree with your assessment, but what should we do in regards to the Book of Epiphany?”

  “I suggest leaving for Village #94 earlier than originally planned. Currently, we plan to arrive mid-morning, make final preparations for departure from the village, and begin the return trip early in the afternoon. If we were leave immediately, we would arrive in the village just before dawn. By adjusting only the timing of our efforts – not our actual plans – we can confuse the plans for revolt. Upon entering the hamlet, we begin scouring the village for the book. We check every person, every bag, every house, and every workshop. We examined every conceivable hiding space. After an exhaustive search, we burn everything in the village. If we somehow missed the book in our search, we will encourage the revelation of the book’s location via the imminent threat of its destruction. At the very least, burning everything brings us back to the status quo. We can leave certain the book poses no immediate threat given that the book was never in the village or if it was, it is now destroyed. Either way, the book poses no greater threat than it did one week ago. Finally, we keep the girl, Bianca Waters, with us at all times. She likely knows more than she says; the girl may have information to help us.”

  “Excellent plan,” announced Lupier. “I think your advice is superb, especially the torching of the village. I know a few guards who excel at retrieving information from reluctant informants. I will request they help Bianca remember a few more facts. I do have one question for you, with such tactical skill, why are a low-tiered Squad Leader?”

  Q7 said nothing. Commander Lupier knew the reason for his current rank.

  Pausing for a moment and realizing Q7 rightly recognized the question as rhetorical, Lupier continued, “With the insight you displayed this evening, Q7, you are ready for long overdue promotion.” Q7 smiled, even though guards were not supposed to show any emotions. He quickly muffled his excitement and return to his emotionless visage.

  Lupier continued, “There is an opening at SD2. Are you ready to be a Sub-Division Leader, 2nd Tier?”

  Shocked, Q7 said nothing. He nodded his head in both affirmation and disbelief. Typically, a guard promotes one, or perhaps, two tiers. On rare occasion, a guard might jump three tier levels, but this occurred rarely. Thus, at the regular rate of promotion, Q7 might move to Q5, and on rare occasions, move to Q4. The rank offered by Commander Lupier represented advancement that usually took seven years. Q7 reveled within the confines of his mind. He thought of his wife and children; he thought of their faithfulness and love for him. Perhaps, he hoped, we can finally move from the vermin-infested, window-less, damp, and tiny house they now resided. With pride, Q7 verbally acknowledge the commanders question, “I am ready to serve the Protectorate as SD2.”

  “Very well,” said Lupier. “Congratulation, SD2, you have done well this evening.”

  With a gentle wave, Lupier dismissed SD2. The gray-haired Sub-Division Leader moved through the tent’s entrance. SD2 beamed with joy at his first promotion in almost two decades.

  As SD2 walked away from the tent, he heard Commander Lupier’s demanding voice from within the meeting tent, “SD2, come to me.”

  SD2 noted the unpleasant tone in the commander’s voice. He double-stepped to tent’s entrance, “SD2 request entrance into meeting tent.”

  “Enter.”

  SD2 ducked his head and re-entered the tent. He felt the thud of each footstep as walked toward the Commander’s makeshift table. Commander Lupier stared blankly towards him before finally speaking, “We have a chain of command in the Crimson Guard. You are aware of this, are you not?”

  “I am aware,” answered the befuddled sub-division leader.

  “Are you? Then explain your actions this evening. Even a novice Common Guard knows that information is presented to your supervisor. Am I you supervisor?”

  “No,” said SD2.

  “Our actions have consequences. Sub-division leaders in my company know the chain of command and they follow it. You, obviously, are not fit serve as SD2 because your actions lack an adherence to protocol. I recently learned of an opening for Squad Leader, 7th Tier. I think this level of rank fits you well, given your actions this evening.”

  The former SD2 and once again Q7 said nothing.

  “You are dismissed, Q7.” Commander Lupier giggled as he spoke. He laughed at his own ingenious ability to ascertain information without crediting its actual source. Well done, he congratulated himself. Further, Q7 is a brilliant tactician. Such talented guards need to stay in low-level positions, lest they become a threat to my leadership in this company.

  Q7 turned around and walked out the tent. As stepped into the darkness of night, he looked toward the two violet moons. The moons are beautiful, he thought. The Protectorate knows nothing of beauty. Q7 resumed his regular evening duties.

  25 a butterfly’s trajectory