This was really suppose to be a one-shot for my Lost Tales collect, a tribute to my mother. Doubt she'll ever chance upon this story (Frankly don't think I want her to see this... Too embarassed...). However the material I got for the fic just didn't fit together. Then I just tried it out as a diary format and its fits in as a journeyman's account. Hence this was born (what am I getting myself into?).
I hope you guys enjoy this fic.
The passing landscape of desolation rocks like an feral Lum. The old rickety wagon which on which I'm traveling obviously has seen better years. Maybe tens of them. I set my quill down, it was impossible to write anything anyway, and looked out over the hills.
This place was green once; or so I was told. Twenty years ago this area was green, filled with lush vegetation and flowers as far as the eye could see; or so I was told. A whole generation has grown up knowing this place to be a desolate wasteland.
A place once called the Gardens of Aire.
My name is Quaero, Quaero Ventris. I was born in the town of Arias 16 years ago. By that time, the Great War between The Scared Kingdom of Aquaria and The Kingdom of Airyglyph was over. Without the need to send young bodies like mine into the meat grinder of war, I was sent to Aquios at a young age to study. There it was in its vast libraries that I learn about the events that occurred before and during the Great War. However, many accounts and histories appear to have been removed or censored from their volumes. It is my quest to properly document the events that occurred during these, 'Black periods'. Thus I journey to where the war all started, The Kingdom of Airyglyph.
The wagon strikes something and it collapses, sending me flying across to the other side.
Assuming I get there in one piece.
It appears the wheel has broken off, the wagon owner gets off to salvage some wood to fix wheel. Out of curiosity, I follow him.
"How long have you been plying these routes old man?"
"Bah," the old man spits, revealing a mouth lacking most of its teeth, "Young'uns these days 'ave no manners, eh? I have a name ya now."
"Pardon me, sir. I meant no disrespect. How should I address you?"
"Beats me! Gwahahaha!" The old man roars at his joke as I stared quizzically at him, "I don't have one! At least I don't 'member! Everyone 'ere calls me 'old man', GWAHAHAHA!"
"Ah, I see." No, actually I don't see at all
"Them townsfolk found me after one of 'em big battles. Nursed me back ta health. Thing is couldn't remember 'nything at all."
"Ah." That explains the many scars on his arms and legs.
"Once I could walk again, I helped guard Arias till the end of da'war."
"Did you participate in any other battles since then, 'old man'?" I ask.
"Hell no! 'Too old', 'tis I was told," he slowed, his face tightened as he reminisced his past, "Was a good thing 'nyways. I woulda' been in the thick of it when them blasted celestial ships 'peared."
"Celestial Ships?" I inquired. I had read accounts of them but details were exceedingly scarce.
"Yea… we lost many that day... A black day, it truly was, aye. Them healers worked all they could till they could stand no longer," he paused to draw breath, "There was 'tis kid, no older than you, mind you. They brought him in, bits of metal stuck all 'ver his body. He just kept going 'meena', 'meena' over and over again. They took him away to Aquois, I hope he survived, poor kid; should never be there in the first place."
"…" I offered.
"When da'war was over, I buried my sword and swore never to take up arms again. Since then I've 'een on this route. Good business I'll tell ya, can't 'member the last trip where I only had one fella on board."
We reach what appears to be a burned out skeleton of a camp. I can't believe that it survived this long.
"Ironwood," 'Old man' says, sensing my unspoken question, "toughest wood on Gaitt. Ya can set it on fire and it'll still be 'ere da next day." He gets to work searching for wood small enough to cut up and bring back. "Don't get 'urself hurt, ya hear? I'll have enough ta carry 'ready."
I wandered about the sight, marveling at the hardiness of the camp. Despite the years, the basic layout and its defence structures are still mostly in one piece. This camp was laid out in a precise rectangular pattern. Two main roads intersected the camp, reaching a second wooden palisade in the exact middle. Any markings on the ground were long gone, washed away by the rains of twenty years. Yet some wooden pegs were visible in the ground. They traced out where tents of the common troopers would have been, each laid out perfectly along smaller 'streets'. An astonishing display of engineering precision.
I made my way to the secondary palisade. In here, pegs traced outlines of much larger tents. Apparently, the officers of the garrison would be quartered here, with the largest presumably being the planning room, where the officers would meet to discuss battleplans.
The larger tent was strewn with debris and wooden furniture. Wouldn't 'Old Man' have already taken these smalled pieces, and if he hadn't finished using them why didn't he just come directly to the palisade? He must still retain some sense of his soldiering, a common soldier would never enter this area under normal circumstances.
I bent down and began to remove some artifacts for inspection...
...A rusted candle holder, I carefully placed it within my satchel. A nail, ...that could have come from anywhere. A quill buried in the mud, it crumbled to dust the moment I touched it. A silver fork, untouched by its years in the mud, this I kept... I found nothing else of possible historical value. I wiped my hands, got up and prepared to go.
And I struck something with my foot. Something hard.
I fell down, cursing whatever it was to purgatory and beyond as I massaged my bruised toes. I looked closer at the offending object that had brought such misfortune upon me.
A wooden box.
My jaw dropped as I picked it up. What I had mistaken as an ordinary block of wood was actually a container. My timely kick had opened its lid; else I would never have discovered its contents.
Trembling, I opened the lid fully. A forgotten piece of history, untouched for the last twenty years...
A parchment. Military Orders? A Legion Order of Battle? Battle plans? Dispatches to the ruling powers? My pulse raced at the find. The parchment was in surprisingly good condition, only its brown colouring hinting at its age. The ironwood box entombed in the mud must have kept it safe all these years. I picked it up and unfurled it.
Dear mother,...
...A joke...? A rare chance to find out exactly what transpired within these wooden walls and I find a letter addressed to someone's mother?
Ah well, finding something like this is already pretty good. I got back to reading the letter.
Dear mother, I know I haven't written to you for some time now. We've been on the move for quite some time and we're all working too hard to have any personal time. But somehow... somehow with what I feel is ahead of us, I didn't think I should wait any longer.
I've just been promoted to lead the 3rd Cohort. Its difficult moving to a new unit but my men are doing their best to make me feel at home.
Much of our cohort is made up of battle-harden warriors, veterans of previous campaigns. Having them around really helps to boost the moral of our new volunteers. They all talk tough but I can tell they're all scared. Scared of the future, scared of the unknown, scared of dying.
I can't tell you where exactly I am right now. But its been raining nonstop here. Though we're all wet and hungry, we're not miserable. All of us here know what we're here for and why. I'm not alone here.
We're getting ready for a major offensive right now. The odds are bad but we have to fight. There are countless lives on the line.
...Actually I'm half-scared to death. I'm afraid of dying but I fear more for the death of my soul. I want nothing more than to be the young man that left you when I joined this war... But with what I've seen... with what I've done...
To survive one needs to do unspeakable things... One has to be cold and unfeeling. A moment's hesitation is the difference between killing or being killed. In a flash you're a different person... But we concentrate on the good we've done, our ideals, the people we save... And not dwell on those we have to leave behind.
Life is a collection of choices. When the journey is done, we look behind us and wonder whether we made the right ones. Should we have made this choice or the other? Was there any other way? Was it right?
Me? At least I know when Apris comes to take me, I can hold my head up high, stare death in the eye, and smile. I am proud of my choices. That what i did made a difference to someone's life; even if I will never see them. That my life had meaning.
They're sounding the muster bell. I have to go now. Send my love to Esmeralda. I'll write again as soon as I can. I love you all.
Your loving so-
...And the letter ends, incomplete, its message undelivered. Carefully I roll it up and replace it within the box, bringing it with me.
'Old man' has already found what he needs and motions for me to follow. I speak little, absorbed in my thoughts, content for him to do the talking for both of us.
The 3rd Cohort... Of which legion? A name... Esmeralda... The handwriting... elegant, flowing calligraphy that was unbroken and unhurried till the end... The author must have been a high-born officer. Another lead for me to follow up on, once I return to Aquios... and finally deliver what appears to be the last message a son made to his mother.
'Old man' fixes the wagon and we proceed on our way. The sun is setting as the wagon bounces on its way.
Silently, I take out my carbon sticks and stiff parchment. Slowly, I sketch the setting sun on the Aire Hills.
A desolate wasteland... One that held captive a son's feelings for his mother for twenty years.
We're almost at the gate of Kirlsa, Lighting Brigade Outriders trot towards us, motioning for us to stop for inspection.
Perhaps one day, one day we will know this place once again as the Gardens of Aire.
Wee... The letter took some time getting out...
Hope it wasn't too corny, hee.
Forceflow out.