Whoa, the thread views since the last post were just over 300, while the average previously had been a pretty consistent 40-60. Not sure what may have caused the surge, it's probably just some weird anomaly, but if somebody has mentioned this elsewhere, thank you! More readers is always good.
Anyway, on to the next part, which I have to admit is one of my personal favorites.
Chapter 4, Part 4Belsira sat under a tree on the edge of camp and watched Portik run his men
through their daily drills. She didn't have to participate today, just work to
prepare herself mentally for the battle to come.
There was a fire in Portik's actions now. Ever since he saw Misha off on the
supply wagons returning to Gelfont, his demeanor was even more serious and cold
than before, his demand for perfection from his men even more profound. Yet
still he rarely let a glimpse of emotion escape where Belsira could detect it.
She worried that keeping his emotions in like that may hurt him later. She knew
all too well how important it was for her to acknowledge her own emotions so
that she could drain any excess into her worry stone or use it in some task.
She also worried that perhaps if emotions did come boiling to the surface of
Portik's demeanor, they'd be negative ones: hatred, anger, bloodlust. She just
couldn't imagine him with that kind of aura or personality. Nobody that could
care so much about what happened to Misha should have to live that way.
She also worried about the rest of the legion, they were
too ready to get into
this battle. She dreaded the specter of the bloodlust that they could arouse
when the time came.
Most of all she worried about herself. She felt the very same feelings of
revenge and justice for this massacre as anybody else in the legion. She could
taste the power coursing through her, then toward the enemy, she lusted for the
chance to strike back at them for what they had done.
And that scared her. Had she changed so much already? Is she the same person
that Hylian raised to respect and support all life? Now that she was a soldier,
could she ever go back to just being Belsira?
She stood up, walked towards the town. The legion's men had finished searching
the rubble, found no more survivors, and too many bodies. Misha had done far
more than anybody could expect, and had identified as many of the people as
possible. Some she didn't know well enough, though, and some were disfigured
far beyond anybody's ability to identify. Final tally was three hundred and
thirty-two dead, with eighty-seven unknown as to who they were.
They were buried now on a small rise just north of the town center. Belsira
walked through Hidelway-no-more, then up the rise to stand among the dead.
Bare mounds of earth lay in neat rows and columns along the hillside. Dry
summer grass lay trampled between them from the soldiers who dug the graves,
then filled them again after giving rest to the victims of the massacre.
Too much lost potential here, too many dreams left unfulfilled.
Belsira left the graveyard, wandered back into the village again. She wished
she knew what she was looking for. There didn't seem to be any purpose to her
movements, just a way to relieve pent energy. She saw Portik again, so approached.
"How are you doing, Portik?"
He looked up from the inventory he was doing of supplies. "Hmmm? Fine,
Belsira, fine."
"Do you think Misha will be all right?"
"I think so. I doubt that the enemy has gotten around behind us yet. We'll
need to find them fast, though, or it could become a real possibility."
"No, I mean will she be all right in the long run?"
He stood silently, contemplating her question. "I don't know. I don't know
anything about the woman she's become since I last saw her. But knowing the
girl I knew then, and knowing her parents and the way they would have brought
her up, I'm hopeful."
He didn't sound convinced, but there wasn't much Belsira could say not knowing
more than she did.
Portik checked off the inventory from the wagon, moved to the next one. "I also
told her how she could contact me through Legion Headquarters in Lethem if she
should ever need any help when the war is over."
Belsira never ceased to wonder at the hidden assumption that everybody seemed to
have that not only would they win the war, but that each person would himself
make it through fine and then be able to pick up life where they had left it before.
Was she any different? She daydreamed often of getting back to the cabin with
Hylian and continuing as if none of this had happened. And try as she might,
she couldn't imagine what
would be different if they both were able to return.
"Portik, there's also something else I'd like to talk to you about."
He turned to her. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure what's wrong, but I've been very uncomfortable about our situation
over the last day."
"Understandable. We came across an example of great atrocity. Everybody is
uncomfortable about that."
"I know, and that's part of the problem I think. All the soldiers are walking
around, anger in their hearts, pacing like cats, and
so eager for the revenge it
scares me."
"What else would you expect? You saw the same things the rest of us did. Do
you think we should just let it go as an unfortunate consequence of war? Even
among the great evils that always exist in times of conflict, this is beyond the
bounds of acceptability."
"I know Portik. I want to get the bastards as much as anybody, but there's
something in the air that I don't like. If we hunt them down out of pure
hatred, how much of them do we then take into our hearts? It's an obsession,
and we're losing something important because of it. I just wish I knew what
that was so I could explain better."
"I think I understand what you are trying to say, Bel. Unfortunately, I don't
know what to do about it. Should we ask the men not to hate the enemy for what
they've done? As much as I'd rather have them tackle the battle with a clear
mind and soul, we can't tell people how to feel. And frankly, the charged
emotions will give you much more to work with your talent."
"I know, it's just that right now, I don't feel as if I know any of these
people. I can't help see what's inside them, and even though I know that they
really aren't as hateful as they appear, it still bothers me."
Just then, they heard a commotion over towards Kirtok's command tent. One of
the scouts came riding back at full speed, hopped off his horse, then ran into
the tent. Portik and Belsira looked at each other, then rushed over to see what
was happening.
As they entered, the scout, General Kirtok, and his aides, were looking at a map
on Kirtok's table.
"I found them just east of Randen, marching along the south loop road here," the
scout said, pointing at a place south of the legion's present position.
"Did you get a count and makeup of their forces?"
"Yes, Sir. Approximately three thousand infantry, only about 200 horse, plus
supply train."
"That must be the main element in this area. Most likely at least one battle
talent with a force that size." Kirtok looked up at Belsira. This was it --
the test she dreaded most.
Kirtok looked again at the map. "It will take them approximately three days to
travel the rest of that road and come out back on the main road here behind us.
We can go back to the junction in less than two.
"Loric, make sure we have a good rotating schedule of scouts to shadow their
movements. I don't think they can take any other route through that terrain,
but I don't want to be surprised by anything they do."
Kirtok turned to another aide. "Call the legion in and let's break camp, I want
to be on the march in less than an hour."
"Yes, Sir."
Belsira saw that everything was now coming to a head, but she still felt
uncomfortable with what was about to happen. Perhaps she had a way to change that.
"General, could I have you assemble the legion at the cemetery before we go?"
Kirtok glanced askew at Belsira, but nodded his assent. "Loric, pass the word,
legion to assemble at the cemetery."
"Yes, Sir."
"What do you have in mind?" he asked.
"I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's important."
Kirtok shrugged, then started walking toward the hill. Belsira hurried to catch up.
What had she gotten herself into? What if her plan failed? It was very
possible she could lose a great deal of confidence that the legion, or Kirtok,
had in her. She was committed now, though, no choice but to try.
She reached the cemetery just before the crowd of the legion reached there.
"Loric, ask them to gather just below the graves here, they don't need to be in
formation, though, I just want to talk to them."
"Yes, Lady Belsira."
While he barked the orders for the men to gather, she walked again among the
graves, tried to gain a sense of the place, the people who were now buried here.
People just like the ones she knew in Aberley or Crossley; people she could
know and understand, people she could see as they lived their lives, laughing
with the joys of everyday life.
When she reached the center of the cemetery, she turned around to face the legion.
Seven thousand faces looked at her, expecting something from her now, not from
Kirtok or one of the other officers. They also faced her with a sea of red
anger and even black hatred.
She knew it wasn't directed at her, but at the enemy, but it still disturbed
her, and this wasn't what she needed at all.
"Gentlemen."
Her voice cracked with the effort to be understood even to the back of the
crowd. How was she going to do this with what suddenly felt like a little
girl's voice? She didn't have the power or resonance of Kirtok or Portik, nor
any of their leadership charisma. Too late to back out now, though, so she
ploughed forward, cleared her throat, and tired again.
"Gentlemen. I need your joy for a moment."
Better, she was sure they all heard her now. Didn't help them comprehend her
yet, but she still needed to explain.
"I want to do something for the people of Hidelway, and I need your help. But
to do what I have in mind, I need your joy, not your anger at the injustice done
here."
Still a lot of confusion in the ranks, and even from Kirtok and Portik watching
from the side.
"I need you to think of home, of your loved ones and how much they mean to you.
Because all of these people had the same -- loved ones who made them happy, and
whom they could make happy in return.
"I want you all to think of those happy times, remember them and let them into
your heart right now. Remember the joy of children at play, remember the
feeling of somebody you care for held tightly in your arms."
The red faded, and a slight tint of blue started to arise as some of the men
followed her directions, allowed themselves to feel what she described. But
still not enough for what she wanted.
"What's the single most joyous moment of your lives, one that you would repeat
in an instant, one with no regrets, no looking back. Maybe it's holding your
child for the first time, or meeting your true love, or a beautiful Spring day
where the sky is so blue you think you can fall into it. I need you to find
that moment in time when you were as close to perfection as you could ever imagine."
More blue now, less red, though still not a complete conversion. She'd have to
try now, or she might lose the moment as the minds of the men wandered.
She closed her eyes, took two deep breaths, then concentrated on the blue,
leaving the red, the dark, aside. She pulled the joy into her, slowly and
steadily, not wanting to take it all away from those that had followed her
instruction.
Belsira drew it into herself, gathered it, then let it spread around her. She
let flow the joy and happiness into the ground around the sorrowful bare graves,
let the power reach the roots and stems of the grasses and flowers of the field.
She guided the growth outward, upward. She opened her eyes and saw green where
there was once brown and yellow.
The men saw too, and finally understood. Their joy grew, became more solid as
the anger and bitterness faded into the background. They were witnessing a
miracle, and knew it.
Now Belsira was able to tap into an even greater flow of power, to give that
power to the growth around her. She brought water from beneath the soil to
nourish the growth, guided the nutrients from soil to root to stem. Not that
she had to consciously direct this action for every blade of grass, but that her
understanding of plants taught to her by Hylian came to the forefront, as
instinctual as breathing.
The growth spread across the earth of the graves, sent down roots to grab hold
of the bare ground. Flowers began to blossom and bloom around her feet, and the
surge of joy from the men in the legion made it even easier to add more to the
growth.
But there was a limit to what they could give, and she didn't want to use it all
anyway. She looked around at the graveyard turned garden, saw that with the
help of the Fourth Legion, she had brought at least one taste of beauty to this
tragedy. She only wished that she had thought of this before Misha had left.
Still, she had accomplished what she had hoped, and now it was time to leave.
She shut down the flow of power through her, left the men with the gift of joy
in their hearts instead of anger, hatred and bitterness. She walked down the
hill toward Kirtok and Portik.
Both men were stunned into silence as she approached. Portik's face showed deep
gratitude for what she had done. Kirtok looked both puzzled and impressed.
"General, I believe the legion is ready to march now."
