He felt warm, too warm. His fingers ached, as if his body was now
made of ice and being indoors was now melting his very flesh. He cringed and turned his head to see if
anyone had seen the horrific growling face he’d just made. No one had come into the room yet.
A
heat flashed up his chest, traveled up his throat, and burst into his
cheeks. He wanted desperately to unclasp
his hands and loosen the stiff, uncomfortable formal collar that threatened to
act as a ligature. For some reason,
though, he didn’t think lifting his weaved fingers from the hardwood face of
the table would be a good idea. As soon
as he did, the president would walk in to find him in a less than flattering
stance. It would just figure, after
holding his form and being overly conscious of how he looked for that many
years, that the one time he let his guard down the leader of the free world
would witness it.
His
pounding heart urged him to relax, to move a muscle, to be human. He couldn’t.
Military habits were hard to break.
He fixed his eyes on a small piece of the wall directly across from
him. He sat at one end of a lengthy
table, alone. Would the president sit
all the way at the other end? It had to
have been about fifty feet from one end to the other. At that distance, he’d have to shout to be
heard.
As
his eyelids fluttered his mind drifted to Annika. He wanted to see her so badly he came
dangerously close to scooting his chair away from the table, tearing his medals
from his chest, throwing his hat to the ground and walking over them as he
exited the room, flashing a vulgar hand gesture as he went. The time ticked by, slower than ever, but he
had to tell himself that in less than an hour’s time, he’d be in her arms. All bets were off as to how he’d react, but
it’d be nothing but human emotions flowing from him. All the emotions he had felt necessary to
hide all these years. He was only 30
years old; if things panned out the way he hoped, he would have the next sixty
years to revel in her beauty.
Involuntarily his
eyes closed at the thought of her hair.
Bright red strands of pure rose petals that she wore long, down to her
waist. He hoped that she’d curl it at
the ends like she did for special occasions today. Her little upturned nose with freckles that
danced over the bridge, and twitched adorably when she laughed. It took all of the strength he could muster
to pull his eyelids back up and keep form as he thought of the laugh that tattooed
her name on his heart. If he hadn’t
heard her laugh across the playground in second grade and turned to see where
that irresistible sound was coming from, they may not have ever met. Eight years old and he knew, though he, at
the time, had no idea what love was, or soul mates, or marriage, he knew she
was the one. Tears sprung to the corners
of his eyes thinly, burning like fire.
He had to blink them away. He had
to keep strong for his last duty as leading general of the Outerland Wars.
A
shiver ran through his body. Ankou
almost gave in to his desire to break form when the doors behind him exploded
open. Not only did the president enter,
but a full parade of official looking men followed him, suit jackets and ties
flapping as they raced behind him like drones.
Oh, great, Ankou thought. I get
an entire audience.
“General
Redgrave, what an honor to have you in my chambers,” said a tall man with a
crew cut and stone eyes. Despite his
statuesque appearance, a soft smile broke through. Ankou smiled in return. It was merely a formality.
“The
pleasure’s all mine, Mr. President.” As
he began to stand, the president held out his hand, palm up. Ankou froze.
“No,
please, sit.” His hand collapsed back in
to his chest to tuck in his tie and jacket at he sat down. As he scooted his chair closer to the table,
he continued, “I feel as if I know you, having read all your field
reports. I know you don’t know me very
well yet, but please, call me Bill.”
“Alright,
Bill,” Ankou said, trying to relax. Back
in a sitting position, he attempted a bit of banter. “Only if you call me Ankou.”
“Very
well,” President Bill said, propping his elbows up on the table. As much as Ankou loved looking people in the
eyes, he could barely stand to look into Bill’s eyes. It was like staring into the eyes of a
gargoyle in mid-transformation, hard yet alive enough to rip your throat out.
Luckily
for Ankou, Bill averted his gaze as several manila file folders were placed in
front of him. He shuffled through them
lazily and then rested his chin on his knuckles. The room fell silent. Ankou darted his eyes around, wondering if
he’d get a cue as to when he should start his presentation. All eyes looked elsewhere. Watches.
Papers. The ceiling. Before he could reach full exasperation, a request to start on the tip of his tongue, Bill
looked up again. Ankou held his breath.
“So,
give us a brief overview of how the victory played out.”
Three years in the field, and you want a brief overview? Anger clouded Ankou’s vision as a shaky smile
held his lips aloft, showing his teeth. I sacrificed my adult life for this mission,
and you only want to hear about the last eighteen hours of it? When he was standing up, notes in hand, Ankou
said politely, “Absolutely.” Bill sat
back in his chair, the way a teenager might when he’s trying to look suave in
front of his impressionable classmates and folded his hands across his
stomach. Does this man have no manners?
As
he stood, he felt as if he would explode.
He wasn’t sure if it would be his heart, or his lungs, or his brain that
would explode, or all at once, but the anger, the blame, the guilt, and
anguish, and the pain would all come to a head just by looking at the lax
stance of the president. Ankou cleared his
throat and his fingers danced on the table top, trying to find the remote for
the computer monitor. With the press of
a button a screen, the size of the entire back wall, lit up, and upon it was
his entire report. He pressed the button
multiple times to get through the slides that the president evidently didn’t
care about; as he did so, he walked to the middle of the room.
Ever
the symbol of shining and proud nationalism, Ankou stood up tall,
unwavering. Though he felt sick to his
stomach with nervousness and rage, he stood calm, a gentleman’s smile still
plastered to his face. When the first
twenty slides had been skipped, he stopped on one with the header: “Victory at
Skull Valley.” He opened his mouth to
speak, but before he could get a word out, the president interrupted him,
leaning forward violently.
“I
thought the victory was at Saturn’s Hill.”
His smile had vanished. Only the
stone cold stare remained.
Ankou
sucked in a breath and held it for a moment.
Keep it together, slick. “We started out at Saturn’s Hill, yes,
sir. But the battle moved drastically as
it was fought, and the eventual overthrow of the Reachers was at Skull
Valley. Although it wasn’t a planned
move, it worked to our advantage, as you’ll see…” His hand held aloft towards the screen, Ankou
attempted to go on with his presentation when he was interrupted again.
“General
Redgrave, I mean…” Bill held up a hand in a fist, the forefinger held out, the
thumb stood straight up. He cocked the
thumb down as if pulling a trigger and made a faint kablam noise in the back of his throat. “…Ankou.
Pardon me. But you say the move
to Skull Valley wasn’t planned. Why did
you move there then? Didn’t you have
explicit orders not to travel that far north?”
Fire
lit up in the back of Ankou’s throat. He
felt moisture pop up above his brows. He
swallowed dryly and dropped his hand.
“Yes, sir, I did receive orders from you not to move in that direction,
but like I said…”
A
laugh, a loud, hearty belly laugh, severed Ankou’s speech this time. His eminence crossed his legs under the table
and swiveled his chair to the side, hiking his elbow up on the table. A slow blink blacked out Ankou’s vision for a
second and when he opened them again, his president, the most powerful man in
this dimension, was still sitting there, squirming like a pre-teen who hated
algebra class, and just wanted to go home to his new Playstation. “Ankou… Do you know what this means? Since we ventured into Skull Valley, we may
have started another war. By defeating
the Reachers there, we’ve violated an age old treaty with the Mountain People.”
Ankou
smirked. “You mean the Orissa?”
“Yes,
the tribal people in the mountains who worship gods with no faces and
unspeakable names…”
With
this comment, Ankou had to bite his tongue.
In essence, he was a servant of the government, of Bill, really, but for
him to sit there and spew racist words about a people that were culturally rich
and made their dimension as diverse as it was like driving a dagger into his
heart. A soldier he was, deep down, made
to be a cookie cutter being with no soul, but he felt strongly about slanderous
words about fellow humans, and coming from the president of all people…
“They
may come to seek revenge for traipsing on to their land.” Bill twirled again in his seat. The men who had entered with him remained
silent, undistinguishable in their matching suits.
“I’m
sure if you spoke to them diplomatically, they would understand our need to
enter their lands. The Reachers are a
common enemy between us. The Reachers
fled into Earthsea; what were we supposed to do, just let them raise the Orissa
villages to the ground? To let them
murder their women and children? We saved the Orissa people by following the
Reachers into Skull Valley.”
Suddenly,
all the identical men in the identical suits looked over at the president. A loud thud ran through the room like an
aftershock, the resulting ring piercing Ankou’s ears. He was shocked. The pure anger in Bill’s eyes startled
him. Was it because Ankou had suggested,
and rightfully so, to sort things out diplomatically with the Orissa? On the off chance they would find their
venturing into their lands as a threat?
If anything, Ankou was certain they would see it as a peaceful move and
send a company to thank them, not reprimand them.
Bill
stood. Trudgingly, like a hulking
monster, hands splayed at his sides, he walked towards Ankou. Unsure, Ankou anchored his feet to the floor,
begging himself not to break form. It
was almost over, his duty in the military was almost over, and he could go home
to his wife and start a family and…
As
he stopped in front of Ankou, he studied Bill’s face. It was so hard and menacing that he had no
idea how Bill would even move it to speak.
But he did. “General Redgrave,”
he muttered, tone flat. The slate eyes
dug into Ankou’s face. He tried not to
flinch away. “The Realm of Rath would
have you do one more thing before you go home to your family.” Bill’s eyes, which seemed to not have lids as
they stared unblinkingly at Ankou, never moved, not even to search his eyes, or
to glance at his army of black suits for support. “Would you do that one more thing for your Realm while
you’re still in its care?”
Excerpt from "The Battle at Skull Valley" by Erin M. Truesdale, Copyright 2013
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