main882: I think the mixture of boredom and painful acts would make anyone depressed, to be honest. Also, did you use to be a guest in the comment section a few weeks ago? You ignored my question in the previous chapter, so If you don't reply to this one, I'll know you aren't reading my author's notes :)
An Eldian's Journal
A Tale of 1000 Men
Chapter 51: A Ring of Flames
I spent the next while staring at Kurt's hand on occasion. His face would twitch here and there normally, but this hand twitching was new for him. It was like his whole body was under the spell of something beyond us. It came and went like a seller on the streets, coming and going as he pleases, without a care in the world for human decency.
I tried my best not to dwell on the hand twitching any further or dwell on any of the events that transpired that day in general. It would be too painful, too distracting, and expend too much mental effort.
A familiar creature in the sky pulled me away from my thoughts. It was a bird–not the kind you are used to.
Its feathers were comprised of alloy fibers, and its coat appeared smooth except for a few dents. Its wings didn't flap, but something on its beak made up more than enough for it with an erratic movement. It looked like an elusive plate was spinning on its beak, and I felt misfortuned when no food fell from it. We needed some vital nutrition down there on the ground, not the shit the more usual birds drop on everyone.
Yes, I'm talking about a plane.
During my first encounter with a plane, Viktor and I hid unnecessarily since we initially thought the metal bird was mid-eastern, but it happened to be Marleyan. We didn't feel fear toward this new plane, though, since we picked up on the Marleyan designs and the shell logo on the wings. I guess we learned from our mistakes. I can't say that about a lot of humans.
"Where do you think that plane is going?" Viktor asked in muted awe.
"To a dog fight maybe, to drop off supplies, who knows?" I replied.
Maybe the plane was preparing to scratch the clouds as if they were the backs of older men who couldn't care for themselves. Our aircraft may have served as a mechanical nursing home worker.
"Hey, its tail rudder looks weird," Viktor pointed out.
I winced, "it's wounded."
"Ären't we all?"
My head became more leveled again as the plane continued running past us, without even a sign of limping.
After that sighting, Kurt mumbled about our suspiciously low number of encounters with mid-easterners, almost to the point that I hoped some would show up. I felt their arrival would prove that I wasn't going mad on a land in dire need of massages and lotion. It's amusing how my flustered mind thought then.
Like I recited a magical incantation and utilized a sprinkle of the mystical luck in this journal, a few delinquent mid-easterners spawned like little demons around half an hour later. We had already slain a few on our path a while before, on our search for gold. (Too bad we didn't know the gold was quite rusty and quite unrefined.)
We encountered these scarf-bearers in a small station in the distance that Viktor likened to "an evil circus" with artillery being caged like animals. This dark yet marginally humorous statement was accentuated by a dead body planted in the ground like an organic road sign.
After walking past the body, Kurt aired some concerns while huddling behind some crate-sized rocks. "That little station should have more people."
Viktor replied, "it's almost like they're saving people up somewhere else to unleash on us later."
I asked, "what do we do about this?"
"Use more stupidly creative ideas?" Viktor retorted, feining sarchasm.
"I have to admit," Kurt adjusted the bag on his back, "that seems to be what we're really good at."
I looked at the little station again, or at least what I could see from a long distance. There appeared to be a vehicle, which likely ran on some flammable substance, and beside it were two radio towers sticking out like awkward children who hit their growth spurts too early.
Viktor suggested, "we should hit that vehicle's engine and that would explode, likely burning the people there."
I said pessimistically, "those soldiers are more skilled than us. They could probably figure out a way around it."
"It doesn't matter how skilled they are if there is a flammable thing near them," Kurt stated.
"Hmph." I commented, "I think I understand what we're about now. We create situations where people wouldn't have a chance to use their skills on us at all."
"That's right," a corner of Viktor's mouth lifted. "We have to consider the next thing. How do we light that vehicle on fire from here?"
"Our aim is mediocre at best," Kurt thought out loud. "The only reason I didn't miss shooting those mid-east soldiers the first time was since they were so close to us. But if we miss a shot at that vehicle, the few people that are there could get alerted and find us."
I asked, "why don't we just walk around it like we tried last time?"
Viktor answered, "remember what happened last time? These people could find us out as well."
Kurt leaned forward, "we have to do something that makes them more scared for their lives than scared about what we could do to them."
I looked at the little station again and made out more items than before. I couldn't identify which ones specifically, or even if they were flammable. There looked to be a cannon that likely would be difficult to pierce with a bullet, but there happened to be smaller containers with what I assumed were flammable substances.
I summoned a shred of intellect, "we can simply increase our chances of landing a shot on something. There also looks to be canisters of oil or gasoline or petrol or whatever. It's hard to tell from this distance." I paused and calculated my words, "if all three of us could target one flammable object, the likelihood of at least one of us landing a shot on a target would be higher."
Viktor thoughtfully tilted his head, "look at that. Heinrich actually has some problem-solving in him."
I shoved off that pseudo-compliment and watched Kurt as he fondled his rifle like a toy. He never once shared a shred of verbal weakness regarding his feelings post-killing, but the way one of his hands vibrated told me more than he could ever convey. It was like a poison had taken him over, and I was yet to find an unknown antidote.
I put my hand on Kurt's shoulder in an attempt to quell his silent worry. His freckles connected with the creases of his face to form a semi-smile, like a whole attempt to subdue my anxiety with only half the result. He was never great at smiling anyway. He should have left that to Viktor.
I peeked over the rock and set my stolen rifle on top in the expectation that my friends would follow suit. I aimed for the vehicle, and the boys aimed for other objects.
Viktor counted down. "3"
"2"
"1"
All three of our bullets blazed with thunderous sounds arriving a split-second later. Instead of my bullet landing on the vehicle like a well-trained sniper would be able to do, my shot must have dented one of the legs of the radio tower. Maybe if it pierced through another leg, it could have toppled over and smashed the vehicle, thus creating an explosion.
Luckily for our trio, Viktor landed a shot on a giant canister of the aforementioned unknown substance and caused a chain reaction. The plume of fire shook hands with the vehicle, and some flames were donated and transferred over–it was some tragic charity.
Our plan worked, minus the fact that Kurt's shot was useless and the fire wasn't large enough.
"Guys," I said muffled. "I don't think anyone was near enough to actually burn in that."
"Whatever," Viktor hissed. "It's still a good distraction. Let's run."
The boys and I spread out from our vantage point behind the rocks. Viktor veered away from us, but Kurt and I ran along the train tracks planted nearby. I refrained from calling out to Viktor to ask where he was going. He must have known that giving the aggressors more than one target to shoot at would lead to confusion in the heat of the moment. He also carried a standard grenade, so I assumed he would make good use of that.
I focused back in on myself. My thigh muscles, both halves, burned due to my inability to sprint even with training, but I felt the mixed thrill of a chase and the fear of a life or death situation. That must have been the constant adrenaline craving of a criminal and a soldier–but who says they can't be the same.
I looked to Kurt, who was sprinting next to me. He happened to beat me in a sprint during our time in the training camp, but this time did not seem to go as well. He tripped on one rung of the train tracks but recovered and continued going. Maybe he imagined a demon behind himself to keep motivated to push the failed engine that was his lungs. Too bad the mechanic-like doctors couldn't solve his issues yet.
I looked to the small station and found a few human-sized mice scurrying around, yelling at the fire. I took a chance to shoot at a leg of the tower again, and of course, that didn't do what I wanted, and I aimed for another explosive canister. This time, a new web of heat puffed and snatched a rat.
The blood-curdling screech was like a leech, sucking out my willpower as if it was a delectable treat. I did my best to resist it.
One of the remaining rats noticed me and fired his rifle. One bullet panged against my helmet, and the blunt force almost knocked me sideways.
"I need ammunition," Kurt repeatedly huffed as if saying it would summon some.
I raised my rifle to fire the last bullet in the magazine, yet another explosion roared without even pulling the trigger. It came from the stationary cannon. Had one of the mid-easterners accidentally jammed it, thus exploding on its own?
Or was it Viktor with his potato-sized grenade?
Yes. It was the fighter.
He must have gone the other way around and chucked the hot potato in, and it sizzled the enemy soldiers in a short bath of its steaming starch. I just wished he had told us his idea sooner.
That passing worry was halted when I observed the ring of flames. I stopped sprinting and a pit formed in my stomach. The corrupt pallette of gold to crimson formed trails of smog that hovered like birds under a spell. I created that monstrosity.
I continued sprinting away with Kurt and didn't turn back, almost like if I didn't turn around, those flames would not exist and put themselves out automatically.
Kurt and I met up with Viktor at a safe distance away from the ring of flames. Kurt laid on the ground coughing as if fighting someone trying to steal air from him. Viktor had his palms on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
"I burned people." I repeatedly huffed, "I burned people."
"I burned you once, remember?" Viktor replied.
"This is not the same. Not even close. Do you not regret what you just did?"
"I'm not up to feeling regret right now. It gets in the way of things."
"But…"
"I've seen you have it," Viktor's mouth set in a hard line as he stared at me. He then looked to Kurt, "and I think he is going to have it next. You can't get anything done when you have it."
Viktor tapped Kurt with his leg. "Get up, Kurt. We have to keep moving."
"I know. I know." He continued taking in large chunks of air. "I just need to catch my breath."
Viktor removed the magazine from his rifle to look at how many bullets he had left, and he sorted through his bag items for a replacement magazine. It was the only spare ammo he had from the abundance lying in No man's land. He chucked it at Kurt. Viktor then grew impatient and stuck his arm around Kurt to help lift him. The asthmatic's ankles quivered as he stabilized himself.
"Let's keep moving," Kurt muttered while his face still looked sour.
With flames burning behind me and one in my heart, I had no option but to keep progressing towards our goal.
XXX
The train tracks stood by us like parents holding our hands through tumultuous times, so I started thinking about my parents. It was almost instinctual.
I closed my eyes to bathe in the gentle warmth of the memories of my mama and papa, for it blessed me with the sweet uplifting sensation that the world around me thoroughly lacks. It is peculiar how no matter where I go, no matter what I am doing, no matter who I am surrounded with, these beings with whom I share blood ties create warm weather in my soul. These devils were simple on the outside, but inside they held glimmering magic and care for me in their honest loving hearts.
The memories were pure.
I needed to shun them.
I forced these memories out of my mind's plagued hands. If I thought of my parents after what I had just done, my memories would get tainted.
It's unfortunate, really. You need love in all its varieties, romantic or platonic or familial, to get through these times. Yet, my friends indirectly refused to provide the platonic bonds that repair mental wounds, and the memory of my parents helped only so much. They were too distant.
I swallowed my pain, and it stayed like phlegm in the back of my throat.
I asked, "where do we go now, Kurt?"
"We keep following this train track. It goes across a small valley and into a larger station than what we just came across."
"Dammit," I scowled. "We barely get a break and we are already going to have another fight?"
"What do you want from me? I didn't make up this up."
I sighed for the millionth that day, and I found the urge to sing for an unknown reason. I think I needed to express my disorientation in a way that wasn't screaming.
My words curled into unpolished notes that waltzed out my mouth, weakened by the phlegm that bogged my throat. The diverse tones in my voice mirrored the variety of garbage in a trash can from the beautifully ugly apple core to the tragically beautiful plastic bag. Each note cluttered together like the objects in a constantly shifting shopping cart. Nonetheless, I sang automatically, not from my soul, but from hopelessness. It created the most pained song, in my flawed opinion.
Viktor asked aggressively, "why are you singing?!"
I stopped and answered, "it helps when I don't have a guitar."
"Well, stop it. Its making me depressed."
"It's better than being quiet and having to be stuck with my thoughts."
Viktor took a pause and looked behind me for something. "Why don't you read that journal to us?"
"The journal?" That caught me off-guard. "I don't want to."
"Why not? Reading that would be better than just being quiet, and like you said, having to deal with our thoughts."
I said sharply, "I'm afraid."
"Who isn't right now?"
"I'm afraid of what's in this journal, okay? I don't think I can trust Mr. Kruger anymore."
"How about I just look at it?" Viktor moved behind me and pulled the scummy green journal from my bag. He walked beside me, and I observed his face as he flipped through the initial pages.
Any movement was drained from Viktor's features like water down a sink. His eyes glazed over as if he hadn't expected the information lying on those pages.
"What's in it?" I asked. Viktor's look only piqued my interest.
"You don't need to know right now. It's too much of a distraction."
"What? You just told me you wanted to read it."
"Well, I don't want to anymore. Just keep singing your stupid song." Viktor stuffed the journal back in my satchel, and he continued, "I can't figure out why that wall-keeper would give this back to you. And the fact that he's half-Eldian…."
"The wall-keeper is half-Eldian?!" Kurt inquired.
"Yes, you didn't know that?" I responded, still cautiously curious about Viktor's reaction.
"No one told me about any of this."
"It's too long to explain."
"Explain all of it now. We got time."
Viktor and I updated Kurt on the little mystery sitting on the backburner the entire time, and when that conversation burned out, I stared at the train tracks again. They were still beside us, and I was still curious about them.
I asked Kurt, "whose train tracks are these? Are they Marleyan or mid-eastern?"
"I don't know. We weren't taught if there are track designs specific to either country. Why do you ask?"
"I'm just wondering if there will be any trains to help us or even any to hurt us."
Viktor interrupted, "no you're not. Your just hoping for a train to ride on so we don't have to walk."
"Don't lie. You're probably hoping for that too, Viktor." Kurt shot back, "I do as well, to be honest."
We were introduced to a small cart that sat in solitude on the railway a while after. It looked like a singular bone, a vertebra, usually connected to a steamy spine one would call a train. It also looked to be hibernating. We needed to wake it up. In essence, this man-powered contraption required two people to press a seesaw-like lever alternatingly.
Our handcart happened to have two corpses lying across it as if they were claiming it post-mortem. Viktor asked while plugging his nose, "I swear, why does there have to be a dead body on everything we try to use?" He shoved the bodies off while doing his best not to stand on any residue blood.
Viktor hopped on one end of the cart, and Kurt and I hopped onto the other. While Viktor pressed one end of the lever down, Kurt and I lifted the other end and vice versa. At first, we accidentally moved in the direction of the fiery station, but once we got in the hang of the motion, we progressed at running speed while applying a comparable effort one does for walking. We rode down the dusty world while making the motions of a traditional water pump.
It was easy as riding a bicycle. But instead of pesky pedestrians crashing into you since their noses were too absorbed in the newspapers, we had our doubts twisting and turning, causing a stir and fueling our resolve.
This resolve was challenged halfway through when our comfortable "water-pumping" caused a slight thundering sound, and our balance was thrown off. The cart dislodged from the tracks.
The boys and I stepped down from the cart and surveyed the issue. The cart had gotten off the rails like a zipper dislodging from its tracks. There was a small pothole, and the railway hung clumsily on top like a chewed rope.
Viktor swore profusely as Kurt and I converted our annoyance to real effort and pushed the cart by one end. However, much like our happiness levels, it didn't go anywhere.
When Viktor switched out with Kurt, we saw some real progress. With a vein rising from the fighter's neck and his jaw tensing like a pure muscle, I mirrored his energy and felt my body function like a piston as I pushed.
The metal clanged as the cart realigned to the stable portion of the tracks, and the strength drifted from me. I said to the boy with chocolate hair, "I never ceased to be surprised by how hard you try, Viktor."
With a jaw still firm, he said, "I told you two many times already. We are going to make it through this."
Our trio jumped back onto the handcart and went our merry way.
At some point, the large station we were searching for licked the edges of our vision. I could make out the uni-color clothing the buildings wore unconfidently and the palm trees that swooned over them like doting mothers. I was confident some rats were hiding there.
I also heard a hum in the air.
I looked up to see a familiar plane with a wounded tail rudder. I hadn't expected to see it again and with company at that.
The bird it was courting was missing logos, and I couldn't make out its affiliation. This new avian was a flying rat, scavenging the air.
It was time for another significant checkpoint. Our second to first, and second to last.
