"Hello Vlad, sorry I didn't come to see you sooner, but you know how the Army is. All the same I'm sorry for missing the service. I heard it was nice."
Alexandrov was dressed in his General's uniform, bundled against the cold and boots crunching into the snow that blanketed the graveyard in white. The sky was overcast gray and foreboding. A storm was coming, that much certain.
Without looking or needing to read them, Alexandrov knew many of the names of those buried here. They had been his friends, his comrades, and he had ordered many of them to their deaths. Stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see were row upon row of graves belonging to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of the Motherland. Fighting the fascists had taken everything they had been willing to give and more. It had been a war that it didn't matter who was just for no one was. Who was good for no one was and everything was cast in shades of gray. All that had mattered in that war was winning. All that had mattered was surviving.
It had been too long since he'd last been here, too long since he'd last visited his old friends and their final resting places.
"You'll be glad to know that the camp is running smoothly and your idea for diverting water from the mountain has made sanitation a non issue. I promoted Orlov to serve as my aide. You were right about him, he's capable, but a little too rigid."
Alexandrov took a breath to steady himself before continuing. He took off one of his gloves and put the bare hand on the cold stone of the grave marker. Tracing his hand across the stone and engraved letters.
"I realize that I need you more than ever now Vlad. You were my moral compass, my dependable rock. No matter what happened to us you were always the one who held firm, the one who gave me the courage to do what I needed to do. I held firm to my beliefs Vlad and I am trying to stay on that pedestal you put me upon. I sent the 15th directorate away when they tried to claim the orcs. God only knows what they were planning on doing to them. We also liberated that mine we were talking about. We're getting the doctors and medical equipment ready to process them. That was a good thing we did, it was an honorable thing. Something to be proud of, truly proud of."
Alexandrov took a shaky breath, straightening his General's cap and placed a vodka bottle in front of his friend's grave. Settling it with a clink against the grave marker.
"Neither of us really cared too much for flowers so I thought that you would like this better. I don't know if dead men can get drunk but it might be something fun to figure out huh? Vlad," said Alexandrov hesitantly, as if worried to commit to what he was about to say.
"A storm is coming, one that I don''t think I can do anything to prevent. R331, the Mythril. It's made the Red Army and the Politburo go completely insane. I realize now how far removed I've been these past few months while in the Special Region. There is no longer any posturing, no bluff of the threat of military might. Plans are being drawn up, divisions brought to readiness, and supplies requisitioned. It's slow, almost unnoticeable, but it's happening. The Generals all seem to think that we can coat our tanks and planes in a Mythril based paint and as soon as we do we can rush across the fields of Europe and achieve victory. That we can cross the Atlantic and invade America. Worse than that they've managed to convince much of the Politburo of the same thing. Our wounds from the last war have just barely healed and they wish to rip them open again. I believe that if we begin this endeavor it will not just be the end of the Soviet Union, but mankind as a whole. We will destroy ourselves in nuclear fire in a war that does not make any sense to fight. They've grown as corrupt and vile as the Czar we overthrew. The Politburo I realize now, has no intention of ever relinquishing control of the government to the people like was promised. There will always be a threat, always be a reason for them to hold absolute power. Some enemy to necessitate their existence."
"They've forgotten their roots, the roots of our revolution. They no longer look at the faces of the men they will ask to kill or die. They would not see them even if they did care to look. All they see are numbers, and too many of them think like Stalin did. They don't think of the men who will never have a wife. Of the Children who will never see their father come home. Of the mothers who will send their sons off to war only for them to never return. How our nation will be a nation of ghosts once again. Filled with empty tables and vacant streets. All they see are rifles. Cheap, expendable rifles with no value other than what they can attain with them. I'm scared Vlad, I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I don't know who to trust."
Alexandrov's vision blurred and he realized that he was crying. The hot droplets making dimples in the snow at his feet. He wiped at them roughly.
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet Vlad, I don't know if there's anything I can do. Or if I should do anything at all. I still have some old friends within the system. Men we served with in the Great Patriotic War. Men of virtue who are just as appalled at the growing corruption within our Union as I am. Yet if I begin something I will be committed and I don't know if I would be saving the Union or dooming it by taking action. I miss you most of all at times like this Vlad. You bastard. Why did you have to go and die?" Alexandrov let out a weary sigh, tracing the scar running the length of his head as he often did when troubled.
"Drink up Vlad, I'll stop by before I leave for the Special Region again. I've also taken to carrying your pistol, I hope you don't mind. It was always a dependable piece. I will see you again soon old friend."
Alexandrov left to his waiting motorcade and bodyguards. He had to speak to the Politburo committee later today and he didn't want to be late. He had met them several times these past few days with Mr. Sugawara, but they always seemed to have new questions for him or the diplomat. If nothing else though, there was still one war he could prevent.
xxx
Eight Years Ago, Siege of Borgia
The air was filled with the frenzied chorus of shouting men, braying beasts, and roaring flames eating greedily at thick timbers of wood. Smoke billowing all around in thick greasy columns from the gatehouse, choking the throat and stinging the eyes. The smell clogging and all consuming, overcoming even that of blood, steel, and sweat that always seemed to permeate a battlefield. Overcoming even the smell of rotting corpses and untreated wounds. The only thing it would not overcome was the smell of burning human flesh.
Arrows and bolts from bows and crossbows whistled angrily through the air, impacting like meteorites on the barricades erected to protect the besieging Messalonians. After every volley, taunts would rise up from the besiegers, raucous cries disparaging everything from the mothers of the defenders to their questionable sexual activities with their beasts of burden.
Messalon is famous for two things in warfare, their pikes, and their dragons. They had brought both in great numbers to this fight. Brightly clothed pikemen with wide pantaloons and brightly polished steel curiass chestplates and helms were the loudest of all. The bravest of them emerging from cover to taunt the archers, offering them a more tempting shot before rushing back into cover.
Messalonians didn't use peasant levies to fight, no, they didn't do things so base as that. They fielded professional soldiery, much like the Empire, but with a higher focus on individual skill instead of a replaceable gear in a military machine. There was a saying in the archipelago, you picked up a net or you picked up a sword. For many, the battlefield was far more alluring than the life of a fisherman and so many young Messalonians took up the art of swordsmanship and how to properly handle a pike. Ianthe was one such youth.
It wasn't unheard of for a woman to be within a Messalon mercenary company, indeed, some stories told of warrior maidens who had led lives of martial glory and conquest, but those were few and far between. Women by and large are smaller and weaker than their male counterparts giving distinct disadvantages on a battlefield where strength and reach can be determining factors in a fight. Another reason for the lack of women fighters is for a much darker reason. If a female soldier is captured on the field of battle, her position is much more perilous than that of her peers. Mercenaries, soldiers in general are not the most gentle souls and the sacking of cities should give some indication what men living under constant fear of death and withstanding the abuses of military discipline will do when given free reign. Were a sword maiden to be captured alive, she would not remain that way long. Perhaps she would survive for a time, but a body can only endure so much. After being passed between, twenty, fifty, maybe even a hundred men, the flesh can simply take no more, not to speak of the mind.
Ianthe however was large for a woman, standing at an even six feet tall and gifted with a strong physique, she could easily pass for a man of similar age and being a woman of 14 years it was time to test her prowess in battle. She was training to become a draconian knight, but none had chosen her yet and so she was being blooded in battle on foot. She was aware of the risks of battle and as such had a dirk on her belt not for the enemy, but her own throat should the need arise.
Ianthe joined in the chorus of cries rather halfheartedly, just as loud as any other, but feeling hollow and empty as she did it, the taste of metal filling her mouth as her pulse quickened, overpowering even the taste of smoke. She gripped her longsword and shield in a death grip of white knuckles, feeling as if her steel gauntlets would tear asunder from the sheer pressure she was exerting on them.
Her full helm obscured her features and for that she was grateful. She didn't wish for her comrades to see her fear. These were the elite of the elite when it came to Messalonian pike regiments. They were the Draghi Artigli, or Dragons Claws. Veterans to a man, dressing in fine silks or cotton underneath their armor, like a flock of tropical birds. Many sporting waxed curling mustaches and well oiled and combed hair, as if a battlefield was a ball that they had to look their best upon. Their contempt for death and their casual bravery was as infectious as it was foreign to Ianthe. How were they so fearless?
An arrow penetrated halfway through the barricade that Ianthe was hiding behind, causing her heart to skip a beat. Her armor suddenly feeling like it was made of cloth rather than steel, she swallowed heavily and readjusted her grip on her blade. She would not shame her father, Lord of the Skyraiders, lowering himself to fight on foot alongside her in her first engagement. It was an honor not lost on her and she swore she would not disappoint him.
With a great groaning sigh, the flaming gatehouse gave way with a collapse of masonry and woodwork, taking a few unfortunate souls down screaming with it into the rubble. It send a great pall of smoke into the air as the collapse smothered most of the flames engulfing the debris. A great cheer went up from the Messalonians, and an equally great moan from the defenders.
"FORM UP! PIKES AT THE READY! STEP LIVELY NOW! DAMN THE ARROWS, FORM UP!"
The cries repeated up and down the lines and quickly the Messalonians formed up, not in a long line, but like a blade, pointed and held tightly like a fist, pennants and glistening steel pike heads held up to the heavens. Ianthe and the others armed with swords, axes, maces, and various other weapons that weren't pikes forming up in the middle so as best to join the melee if the pikes failed to keep the enemy at bay or their charge failed.
Even with the whistling of arrows, it was as if a hush fell over the battlefield, the discipline of the pike regiments now taking over. Each man like a statue, quiet, unflinching, unfaltering despite the rain of arrows while lessened, still whistling down at them. The few faces of the archers atop the rough cut gray stone walls barely appearing for more than a few moments to fire off a poorly aimed shot before ducking down again, trying to avoid the return fire of well drilled crossbow fire.
"PRESENT ARMS!"
A thousand pikes were lowered in unison, all pointed forwards, yet not a sound was made besides the rustle of wood of fabric and the clink of wood on steel.
"CHARGE!"
Like a wave, three thousand voices swelled and rose to a deafening roar, primal and angry. Three thousand pairs of feet propelled three thousand Messalonians in a wave of humanity and steel, the front ranks never faltering even as they charged over the burning remains of the gatehouse, pikes held firm. It was an unreal experience and everything adopted an almost glossy look, almost too real and Ianthe could scarce believe that she was really doing it, charging into her first battle. Her gaze fixed firmly on the glistening armor plate in front of her face.
Her armor, though she was used to it was heavy, more so as she charged over the still flaming ruins of the gatehouse, the heat feeling as if it was going to cook her inside her armor like a boar upon a spit. She felt clumsy and jittery, like she should turn around and go the other way lest her own treacherous body get her killed, but there was no going back. To retreat now would mean to be hung drawn and quartered. It would mean to discard any shred of honor she had even had claim to, and most of all it would shame her father. So she kept running.
There was a great clash of steel and wood, followed by cries of pain, though Ianthe could see none of it even though she was right in the thick of it. Those behind her pushing her forwards and she and turn pushing those ahead of her forwards. Their momentum slowed only briefly before they picked up speed again, Ianthe nearly sprinting to keep pace.
She nearly tripped over a body, several in fact perforated with stab wounds and one missing half his face, Ianthe had only the briefest of moments to look at it before she was forced to step on and over it and keep running.
The garrison was routing now, running for their lives and the city was burning. Frightening roars sounded overhead at the draconian knights passed overhead. Their mounts picking up and crushing archers in their jaws from rooftops or else loosing torrents of flame and lighting more of the city ablaze. There was no one left to fight them except the viscount and his men hiding in the keep. It was a sack now.
The charge broke apart with different groups spreading across the city, taking what they wanted, burning what they wished, and killing as much as they liked.
Ianthe found herself next to a tavern when she killed her first man.
She should have been paying more attention, but the smoke was making her eye water and everything was so disorientating with the screams coming from all over the city, roaring flames, and the clash of steel. Her very own armored steps rebounding off of the cobbled streets only added to the overwhelming amount of sound. Even so, it almost cost Ianthe her life.
"Ah!" yelped Ianthe as a halberd scraped across the faceplate of her helmet, staggering her and leaving a long scratch in the metal. She turned in time to put her triangle shield in the way of the second jab, the point sticking into the wood of her shield before being withdrawn.
The halberdier was dressed in the green and gold livery of the viscount, with a cheap iron kettle helmet on his head. His face was transformed into a bestial snarl as he brought his halberd up, before swinging the axehead of it down onto Ianthe.
Ianthe blocked with her shield again, but the heavy axehead split through the soft wood, severing the strap that bound it to her arm. It was stuck now though.
Seizing the initiative and acting on instinct, Ianthe let go of the shield, and grabbed the haft of the halberd as the man tried to draw it back. Pulling herself forward, blood pounding in her ears, Ianthe let out a loud cry as she drove her longsword forwards. It stuck fast in the man's neck, the steel parting the flesh as though it had never been there, going so far as the lodge in the spine.
The man's eyes were wide in disbelief, like two brown saucers as blood welled first out around the Messalonian steel, then out of his mouth. He made sounds, gurgling noises like someone trying not to cough and he fell to the ground, hands going to his throat as with a sucking of meat the sword was withdrawn.
Ianthe was breathing hard, every muscle in her body twitching with pent up energy as tremors seemed to rock her body. Everything was bright and glossy around her, every sound crystal clear despite the din of the dying city around her. How the blood, so bright a red as to seem like a dye poured from the dying man at her feet. The man she had killed. She stared at him in his last moments as though she was in a trance. It was with this clarity that she heard the footsteps, quick and purposeful coming up behind her.
Without even thinking, Ianthe gripped her longsword in both hands and with a cry of mindless fury brought her blade around in a savage arc with the speed of a Messalonian swordsman. The blade parted flesh and cloth like butter. Only it wasn't a soldier.
It was only after her strike was complete that Ianthe saw just who she had laid low. It was a peasant girl, not much older than Ianthe herself, but very much pregnant. The length of steel in her hand though had split her open like an overripe fruit and the innards that spilled from her belly were not entirely her own, as a pink, yet unborn baby slid out from the gash like some obscene hallucination.
The woman's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Her green eyes locked with Ianthe's and as if though she were a Gorgon that was turning her to stone, Ianthe could not look away. Accusing they didn't even seem to blink as they bored like emerald coals into her soul.
"I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't know," sputtered Ianthe as horror and revulsion filled her. Her stomach twisting and tying itself into knots. Her heart pounding so loud in her ears that all she heard was ringing. The blade in her hand slick with blood gleamed balefully in the light of the sun as if broke through the covering of smoke and Ianthe dropped it like it was a snake about to bite her. She found she couldn't catch her breath.
"Argh! Don't touch me!" shrieked Ianthe as the woman she had cut down reached out and grabbed at her ankle. Ianthe fell and in her haste to get away and began crawling backwards from the woman.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The words left her mouth in a rush without having to even think about them and soon Ianthe was sprinting armor and all past the woman and towards the city gate. She was sobbing as she ran, head down and running without looking where she was going.
It wasn't much surprise when she ran into something, or rather someone. It felt like she had hit a castle wall and with a clang of steel on steel she fell backwards onto her rear.
"What are you running from girl?"
The voice was a deep baritone of power, radiating authority and dominance. The kind of voice that cowed lesser men into submission and demanded all but the most hushed of silence when it sounded. It was her father, Acamus. Lord of the Skyraiders Company and Grand Mayor of the great city Plutus. He hauled up her armor clad form like another man might a pail of water. His chilling blue eyes peering out from the depths of his full helm, the sword in his hand ruddy with blood. His mythril armor gleaming in the noonday sun.
"Th-there was a woman father. I-I didn't mean-I didn't realize. She was pregnant father-with child! And I, and I," blubbered Ianthe weeping. A blow that made her see stars rocked her head and splashed her vision with streaks of light even with her helmet on almost sprawled her flat, but the strength of her father kept her standing.
"Enough!" Growled her father's voice, radiating the power of the dragon's he tamed and rode into battle. "This is a battlefield, a place for warriors. You will kill here, or you will die here. If you weep for your enemy they will cut you down while you shed tears for their suffering! There is no room for your childish tears here. There is only your comrades to your back and your enemies to your front! Steel yourself girl, or see that you retire to the followers camp to prepare the meals and clean the clothes of real warriors. Do you understand me?"
"Yes father," sobbed Ianthe.
"Where is your sword?"
"I...I dropped it fa-" another blow made Ianthe's knees feel weak and she very nearly fell to the ground.
"If you surrender your weapon you surrender your life! That blade is what stands between you and death. You never leave it behind! Do you want to die child!? Or do you want to live? Come, take me to where you lost your weapon."
"Yes father," sniffled Ianthe, feeling like an ant walking in the shadow of a giant when she walked next to her father. She no longer felt afraid when she was by his side. Her father was the physical expression of power, of martial prowess. When he walked it was with the stride and swagger of a master bladesman, of a man absolutely sure of his own power. Every movement, every motion done with perfect control and assurance. He owned wherever he set his feet for none could take it from him. For he was a Messalonian Blademaster, one of the greatest swordsmen in the known world. Other men were but mere wraiths compared to her father.
To Ianthe's horror the peasant girl was still alive when they returned to the site, her now dead unborn baby laying next to her, still attached by the cord in a pile of blood and viscera. She avoided looking at her and could feel her father's eyes boring into her.
"Retrieve your blade Ianthe."
"Yes father," answered Ianthe obediently, picking up her bloodied blade and cleaning it with a cloth before going to sheathe it.
"What are you doing?" It was not an angry question, or one of reproach, but one that make Ianthe sweat and not just from the heat around them.
"I'm sheathing my sword father."
"So you will leave this woman to suffer before she dies? You struck her down Ianthe, give her a clean death."
"B-but I didn't-"
"Cease your childish protests! This is the result of you actions. Every time you draw your sword, every time you swing it, you must be prepared to kill, else it will be your blood that adorns anothers blade. You must be prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions! Now, finish what you started Ianthe."
"Bu-"
"Now girl!" Her father's voice was like the roar of a dragon and it made Ianthe tremble before its power.
Taking the blade in both hands she held it above the woman still struggling for life, her olive skin taking on the gray complexion of death. Ianthe gripped the blade so hard she was sure the handle would break and then removing all thought from her mind, she brought her blade down with all her weight behind it. The steel sinking through the woman's chest and to the ground below.
The blade stuck fast when she tried to remove it and Ianthe had to put her boot on the woman's chest to free it. She did it without her or her father saying a word.
"Was he also one of yours?" asked her father, gesturing to the halberdier sprawled near the tavern.
"Yes father."
"That was a good kill. Well done. Now follow me, this battle is not yet concluded."
"Yes father."
xxx
Ianthe supposed she should have stared in awe longer at the buildings that stretched into the heavens like greedy fingers of glass and steel, imposing and sterile in their look like lumbering giants and she had been suitably awed and humbled by the sight. Yet, like as in all things physical needs seemed to take precedence over even new and wondrous things that seemed to redefine what man was capable of creating.
Winter had been explained to her, but Ianthe now grudgingly realized that she hadn't fully comprehended what it meant. She had grown up all her life in the Messalonian archipelago. It was always warm there, almost hot as some would describe and as such clothing was generally thin and light, or in some cases nonexistent for those whom felt so inclined. Armor was designed for practicality and mobility, without the abundant layers so common in the Empire to prevent overheating. As such a Messalonain knight was far less armored than many of their counterparts on the Falmart continent.
Cold to Ianthe had always been the time before a rain storm, the coolness of the night and early morning. Perhaps something to wear pants instead of a skirt or toga, but nothing like this. This biting cold that was chilling the steel links of her mail shirt, making it feel as though icy bands were encasing her, even through the fabric of her clothes. She had a slight shiver coursing through her body and could feel her teeth wanting to chatter, something she had heard described, but only ever had happen when she had gone on a high flight with a dragon, without first donning the heavy woolen jacket and cap customary beforehand. Worst of all though, her damnable elvish ears were numbing quickly, the sensitive bound pieces of cartilage and flesh reacting most extremely to the cold.
Ianthe hugged herself against the cold, clutching her thin traveling cloak tighter about herself, noting with vexation that she appeared to be the only one besides the elf Tuka who seemed even remotely bothered by it. The Japanese seemed to have been expecting it, the others from Falmart, much to her embarrassment were much better dressed for it, and if anything the Soviets seemed rather pleased at the temperature. Even the elf Luella who had never known anything other than continual summer with a short and mild cold season, seemed not bothered at all by the chill, clothed as she was in thick, warm garments that Ianthe both envied and begrudged herself for not bringing along with her.
"Cold?"
Ianthe clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling together, before answering her employer.
"Fine Feliks. Fine." Slow and ponderous though her answer was, nevertheless she answered him in his own language. She even managed a smile too, despite the coy smile he wore when asking her that all but demanded a smack upside the head.
After fidgeting uncomfortably for a few moments in the biting cold, she was all but too eager to take a seat on a long carriage with black glass panes and a flat front. It was very glossy, like it had been polished, but that was not the case. The door retracted itself with no one touching it and Ianthe had to force herself not to make a warding gesture against evil spirits and appear a peasant before her lord. It was technology, not magic. So, without further ado she walked up the few short steps and took a seat near the rear.
Blessedly, the inside of the carriage was warm and with a contented sigh she sat in an upholstered seat, thanking whatever gods watched over this land for their small mercies as the biting cold removed itself from her ears.
"Too cold for you eh?"
Despite the temperature, Ianthe's blood turned to ice at the voice. That of a girl entering the cusp of womanhood, but with an undertone of cruelty and the depth only afforded to one of a great many years. She swallowed heavily before answering the apostle standing just in the aisle with her cheshire grin.
"I will survive priestess," answered Ianthe neutrally.
"Maybe, maybe not. You never really know. So tell me, how have you been?"
Without waiting for a reply, the apostle took the vacant seat next to Ianthe and looped an arm around her shoulders, her fingers coming to a rest on her neck. Despite her greater size, Ianthe had never felt more powerless. It was like being pitted against a dragon, the Apostle's fingers resting like steel spikes above her pulse, ever so gently pressing into the side of her neck.
"I'm upset with you right now, did I tell you that?"
"No Priestess."
"Hmm, well from now on you'd do well to remember that, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes Priestess."
"Good, now don't forget," finished Rory, adopting a cheery demeanor, going so far as to wave as she left the seat next to Ianthe, picking another farther up on the carriage.
Ianthe let out a breath that she hadn't known that she'd even been holding in and put a hand on her longsword for the reassurance only well forged steel could give. The Apostle was a being that she couldn't defeat. Something that she couldn't kill, and something she couldn't run from. If Rory Mercury wanted her dead, she would be. It was as simple as that. Ianthe tightened her grip around the handle of the longsword, trying to find a measure of courage from the well worn grip.
Xxx
"Lieutenant Itami, may I ask why we are eating here?" asked Feliks. "I don't mean to complain, but the portions do seem rather...small."
"Yeah I know. With recent cuts to military spending, they've reduced the meal allowance that we get. Even though we're summoned witnesses to the Diet, this is still a business trip so we're limited to 500 yen for a meal. By the way, I'm going to need your receipt."
"Cuts to military spending?" asked Feliks, the very idea of it incomprehensible to him. Where he was from, the military was merely an extension of diplomacy and power. Each new weapons system developed a mark of prestige, every new division raised was more weight behind your words. Each Nuclear missile, clout in the international community.
The were seated at the counter, but closest to the wall and away from the washrooms facing the doorway. Most everyone else was scattered around the restaurant sitting in small groups. Feliks' men all sat together, Tuka and Luella were practically inseparable, and the Imperial Princess and her retainer were off by themselves.
"Yeah, well, not cuts per say, but ever since Trump was elected Japan's been paying full costs for American military forces in Japan. That, and actual cuts to our funding," continued Itami rather glumly.
"Lieutenant, how do you use chopsticks?" asked Vitsin, the medic struggling with the two pieces of wood.
"Like this."
"Oh, thanks Lieutenant," said Vitsin, managing to use the utensils well enough to eat.
"So where did you learn how to speak Japanese anyways?" asked Itami.
"In Japan."
"Aren't you from the Soviet Union?"
"Yes. That doesn't mean that they send kill teams after us when we leave the country. I just had to get proper approval and visas. Generally not many people travel from the USSR to the USA or its allied countries and vice versa. A big reason for that is although they call it a cold war the information war is still very hot. Well, that and the Union doesn't actually issue very many of them anyways."
"So spies then?"
"Spies aplenty."
"Were you spying on Japan then?" Feliks actually laughed at that.
"Spying to learn what? Write kanji? No, it was a cultural exchange. I studied history for a year at Tokyo University. I found Nobunaga rather interesting. Bloodthirsty, but interesting. What do you think of him?"
"Eh, don't really care. Never paid that much attention to history in school. I was more of an otaku than anything. Don't get me wrong I did alright, but it was just memorization and as soon as I wrote the test I dumped all the information. So what do you think of the food?"
"It's alright. Better than army rations anyways, though I must confess to being somewhat of a lush. I do enjoy larger meals and I wouldn't say no to a small shot of vodka. I've never been to a Gyuonoya before though. Although I don't think Ianthe shares my tastes."
Upon hearing her name, the silver haired mercenary looked up quickly from her nearly untouched food, looking inquisitively between Itami and Feliks.
"Yes?"
"We were just wondering if you were liking your food."
"You can speak Common?"
"Well, yeah," said Itami.
"Oh. I must admit that this is a pleasant surprise. I would like to formally introduce myself to you my lord. I am Ianthe, daughter of Acamus and draconian knight of Messalon. It is both a pleasure and a privilege to make your acquaintance sir Itami."
"Oh nice to meet you," said Itami reaching out for a handshake. He realized he'd made a mistake when the silver haired mercenary opened her mouth in shock, then her face twisted in rage. A hard backhand left his head ringing and a stinging pain across his face."
"Ow," protested Itami.
"Do not think me some cheap harlot that you can so casually make advancements upon! I will do more than show you the back of my hand cretin, the next time you attempt an act in the ceremony of betrothal!"
"The ceremony of what?" muttered Itami nursing his jaw.
"Don't-oh, you really don't know," murmured Ianthe, realization dawning on her features and seeing the stares she was getting from around the restaurant. "I may have, um, jumped to conclusions about your intentions. I offer my sincerest apologies. Oh, here," continued Ianthe, wiping rather lamely with a napkin where she had hit him and straightening the collar on his jacket.
"Thanks. How's the food by the way?" asked Itami, rubbing at his still stinging face.
"It is...not to my palette I must confess. Still, I am most grateful for the food."
"Thanks. She doesn't like the food," said Itami, turning back to Feliks.
"She hit you pretty good huh?"
"Yeah."
"She does that," consoled Feliks. "Should've warned you about that."
"Happens," muttered Itami apathetically. "Seems like all that happens to me lately is getting hit by women. So what are you going to tell the Diet when we go tomorrow?"
"The truth would be good I suppose. I doubt it'll win me any favors in there, if anything it'll most likely make them angrier. What about you?"
"Probably the same. Though all things considered I should come off better than you guys will. They're going to really grill you and you're not going to have a lot of friends in there. Especially since you were the one who pulled the trigger."
"The consequences of my actions aren't something I'm afraid to face Itami. I knew full well what could happen to me and I'm not squeamish about it happening. I should do just fine. I guess that second helpings are out of the question then?"
"Not unless you can pay for them yourself. I'm broke at the moment too. All of my money goes to alimony."
"Will they take gold?"
"Ha! Ha, hah, ha!" burst out Itami, spewing out his gyuodan before covering his mouth with his napkin.
"I'm serious. I was issued several one ounce gold coins by the Red Army."
"Wait, for real?"
By way of answering, Feliks took a small leather pouch from the inside of his dress tunic and put it on the counter. Opening it and revealing around 20 gold coins in individual pouches. Itami's jaw dropped.
"My country just increased military spending by 3%.".
Thirty minutes later
"Itami, I sold all of the coins and now I have over four million yen. What can that get us?"
xxx
"I don't really need anything," said Luella rather sheepishly.
"We want to get you something nice though darling. We're going to go to a government hearing and we have to dress our best."
"It's probably expensive," murmured Luella, looking at the racks of clothing spread throughout the store. "I'm not worth the trouble."
"You're worth more than that darling, besides, we want to get you something," coaxed Boris.
"You really don't have to."
"Darling, it's like pulling teeth with you. We're getting you a dress."
"But-whoa!" yelped Luella as the veteran picked the elfin girl up under one of his thick arms and started carrying her towards the racks of dresses, with Luella giggling.
They tried on various dresses and the woman helping them seemed unable to decide who to stare at more, the burly Soviet soldier in full dress uniform with metal teeth, or the short and cheerful elf with purple eyes trying on clothes.
They went through various clothing sets, most of which Luella didn't really like, but tried on anyways. Some of them she could only blush profusely at and politely refuse for how much they revealed. They were made of all different kinds of materials and in many styles that Luella had never seen before. In fact this entire place seemed like something out of fantasy.
The towers of glass and steel that stretched far into the sky, taller than even the mightiest trees seemed like something our of a fairy tale. The buildings looked to fragile to stand and too massive to have been wrought by mortal hands. And the people. It was like all the people of the world had assembled in this city. And the goods. Everywhere they were selling everything imaginable. Food, clothes, goods, and things Luella had no idea how any of them worked, but looked wonderful all the same. The only thing lacking was the forests.
There was no gentle whisper or sigh of the spirits of the forests. Of branches swaying and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Everything here was...sterile. The glass and steel was silent, the stone cold and artificial. It was a place full of people who had rejected nature and its trappings, its majesty. The giant and imposing towers like silent coffins to house those within. Luella almost felt sad for the people who had to live in them.
"Have you found anything you like darling?"
"Not yet Boris, but I'm still looking," said Luella, smiling and feigning interest in several different dresses. She wanted to make Boris happy, but there really wasn't anything that she wanted.
"If you're not finding what you're looking for here, we do have more traditional pieces in stock Miss..."
"Luella, of the Village Hidden in the Glade," answered Luella in Japanese to the clerk. She'd studied tirelessly the entire trip to Alnus, asking Volkov endless questions to try and obtain some proficiency in it.
"Right. Well Miss Luella, if you'll follow me this way, you may find what you're looking for."
"Okay," answered Luella following and bringing Boris along with her.
"These are our more formal Kimono's. Now depending on what you're looking for and what your price range is, I'm sure that we can find whatever it is that you're looking for."
Luella barely heard her though, because she was looking at a blue and white kimono with flowers and trees on it. Her eyes going wide in delight. That was the kind of dress she had always imagined that only a princess or an Empress would wear.
"Would you like to try that one on?" asked the clerk noticing her intense stare.
"Yes, very much please," answered Luella enthusiastically. A few minutes later was fully clothed in the kimono and all of its accessories.
"It's so soft and smooth," marveled Luella, doing a twirl and watching the material follow her around. The long sleeves flaring and shimmering.
"It's made of silk. This is one of our more formal kimonos. It's a furisode style kimono as you can see from the long sleeves. It's generally for young and unmarried women."
"Well, I am unmarried."
"You do yourself too little credit. I hope that I'm not being rude, but you're around 18 are you not?"
"Well, I'm 136, almost 137," answered Luella watching the clerk's jaw drop.
"Wha-how?"
"I'm an elf," answered Luella simply.
"A...a real elf? Not just...pretend? Like the people who go to those conventions?"
"Mm Hm, I'm a wood elf from what you call the Special Region."
"Forgive me for asking, but how long can elves live for?"
"Forever if nothing happens to us."
"I...see. Well then miss Luella, the furisode also had connotations of eligibility for marriage when worn. Are you alright with this?"
"Yup, that's alright."
"It is also a summer model meaning that it isn't padded. Would you like to try on a winter model instead? It may be a little cold to wear otherwise."
"No, this is good thank you. It's really warm where I come from so I wouldn't be able to wear a padded one when I go home. I would really like to get this one."
"You don't wish to look at any other?"
"Nope, I want this one," exclaimed the elf cheerily.
"Very well then Miss Luella. A few basic points of kimono etiquette are in order then. Whenever you wrap it, wrap it from left to right. They're only ever wrapped right to left for a funeral. If at some point you do get married you will no longer be able to wear the furisode style of kimono. You will instead need a irotomesode or else a kurotomesode for a similar or greater level of formality. I have a small instructional booklet that I can give you to help teach you how to tie the obi bow on your kimono properly, as well as how to properly wrap it."
"Thank you very much. If I ever need a new kimono I'll definitely come back here. How much do I owe you for all of this?"
"This kimono and everything that you need to go with it, is currently priced at 2 200 000 yen. Or about $20740.20 in American Dollars."
"W-what?"squeaked Luella.
"Yes, this type of kimono is generally handmade and it's very high quality. If you like there are several cheaper models for formal wear if you would like."
"Yeah, I should probably do that," said Luella subdued. "Sorry for taking up your time with this."
"It's no problem at all. In fact I think you look quite good in that kimono."
"Thank you very much. Can you help me take it off?"
"Of course."
"Hey Luella, why are you so glum all of a sudden?" asked Boris watching as the glee had slipped from the elfin girl's face.
"Oh? It's too expensive. I'm going to get a cheaper one," answered Luella with a shy smile.
"How much is it?"
"It's a lot," answered Luella sounding embarrassed.
"How much is a lot?"
"Well. It's over two million yen," answered Luella rather sheepishly.
"Wait here one second Luella, I'm going to go talk to Feliks."
"No, it's okay, I can get something else."
"No buts darling, and don't you dare take that kimono off."
Boris ignored Luella's protests and went off to the other side of the store where Feliks was standing with Ianthe and the platinum haired girl that was with the Japanese delegation.
"No Ianthe. Lelei, can you tell her that the price is the price and she can't haggle here?"
"She says that if you don't haggle you get swindled and that any self respecting merchant will always haggle," answered the mage in her almost emotionless voice. "She also said other things that I don't think I can repeat," continued Lelei after a moments pause.
"Tell her that the prices here are fixed," said Feliks sounding rather exasperated.
"Hey Lieutenant, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure, what do you need?"
"Well Luella found a dress that she likes."
"Oh? Oh, I see her over there, she looks really cute in that kimono. What's the problem?"
"Well it's a formal kimono so it costs a bit more."
"Yeah, they can. How much are we talking Boris?"
"Something over two million yen." Feliks let out a low whistle.
"That is a bit more."
"Yeah I know. Listen, she really likes it and I was wondering if we could get it for her. I was thinking that we just write it off as an expense. I mean they gave us that money to spend in two days and I don't need to get anything if that helps."
"Damn, I hope that your other kids don't get jealous when they find out how much you're doting on your new daughter Boris. Tell her it's fine to get."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. That kimono probably isn't even worth as much as some of the suits the Politburo wear anyways. I honestly think that they gave us the money for appearances to be truthful. To make us look good in front of the Japanese. Might as well spend it. I doubt Ianthe is going to do anything other than argue with the clerk and me anyways."
"Thanks Feliks."
"Hey it's for the cute girl, not the big brute so don't get too thankful."
"Still no respect from you huh Lieutenant?"
"None at all Sergeant."
"Ianthe says that you're an idiot if you think that prices are fixed," said Lelei in her ever level voice.
"Dammit, tell her either pick something and pay the asking price or she's not getting anything!" snapped Feliks.
Boris left the two of them to argue and made his way back to Luella who was standing as if she was embarrassed to still be wearing the kimono.
"Hey there darling, I talked to Feliks and he said that it's fine. You can get the kimono."
"Really?" said Luella, face lighting up with glee.
"Yup, it's all yours."
"Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Oh gods I have a kimono!" Bubbled Luella jumping up and down in place before laughing. It was high and clear, like tinkling crystal, and the very sound of it seemed to fill both Boris and the clerk with joy as well. Making them both smile and to Boris it made him feel warm and heady, like he was back enjoying New Years with his family and having a wonderful time.
"Oh gods thank you!" said Luella rushing in and hugging Boris. "I promise I'll take really good care of it! I won't let anything happen to it I swear! I'm going to go show it to Ianthe!" blurted out the elf, running off to the other side of the store to the silver haired mercenary.
He frowned though when he saw another woman in the store watching Luella intently. It wasn't a look of curiosity, like someone looking at something they had never seen before, but the look of a person studying and committing it to memory.
If the woman saw Boris' glare she gave no sign, merely went back to browsing a rack full of blouses.
Xxx
"This is really nice," commented Viktor as he waited for the Lieutenant and the Japanese to check them into their hotel. "Is that a TV?" asked the Medic, pointing to a long flat panel hanging from a wall with the clearest picture and sound he had ever seen. He couldn't understand any of what was being said, but it looked really nice.
"I think so. Looks really big though, and it's really thin. How do they fit the vacuum tubes in it?"
"Maybe they just have really small vacuum tubes? Hey Abram, did your family ever have a TV?"
"No. We were never inside enough to need one. There's always something to do on a farm so we mostly just listened to the radio. Oh, I don't think I told you this, but my brother and his family got selected to get a homestead in the Special Region."
"Really? That's pretty lucky. Too bad he's married though eh? Lot's of cute girls in the Special Region," said Vitsin casting a glance over at Luella who was dressed in her new kimono.
"Don't look!" said Abram mortified. "If the Sergeant thinks you're going to put the moves on her he'll beat you to a pulp. He's more protective of her than my dad is of my youngest sister."
"I'm not getting anywhere near Senior Sergeant Kotov's bad side," said Viktor with a shudder. "Anyways that's good news for your brother."
"Thank you. I've heard that they're setting up the farms differently in the Special Region. My brother is actually going to own the land and be able to keep a large share of the profits and crop that he produces. It's some kind of economic experiment to see if they out produce the collectives. My brother is pretty happy about it."
"You thinking about trying to get a homestead there too?" asked Viktor.
"I would like to try. The land is perfect for farming and the soil is really nice. What about you?"
"I'm not a farmer, I would like to live in the Special Region and people always need a doctor."
"You're trying to become a doctor?"
"Yeah. I got a three year exemption from service to go to school and while I've been serving I finished my fourth year doing correspondence work. When I get leave I go and write the exams and do the lab work. Actually I've only got four months left of service."
"Think they'll keep you longer since you're deployed?"
"No," said Viktor dismissively. "The Special Region isn't really a combat deployment. More like a security one. Still, if they did I wouldn't necessarily mind it. You've seen those girls who are kinda like rabbits? Huge," said Viktor, pantomiming breasts.
"Well, yeah," said Abram, the young marksman flushing red but grinning. "There was one girl in a village that we passed through going to Alnus that was kind of cute. Dreyford I think it was? I wouldn't mind getting to know her a little better."
"There we go," said Viktor grinning and slapping the younger man on the back. "Going to make a bigger family than the one you got now?"
"I don't think I could."
"No?"
"No, my family's really big."
"How big is really big?"
"I have 24 siblings."
"Holy shit! How? I mean how?!"
"Well my parents got married when they were 17 and they've just never stopped having kids. Actually last month I just had another brother born. Alexi."
"Goddamn. My parents had their six and that was it for them and I think that that's all I'm going to have. I don't even really want that many, but it's the law so what can you do?"
"I don't know, I like big families. Your brothers and sisters are always there for you when you need them. Three of my sisters became nurses actually. Do you know any of them?"
"Probably not, I'm from Stalingrad."
"Okay then. Really different here though right? I mean everything's done with computers and they're all so small."
"I know. And you know those little squares everyone carries around? They're phones, but also mini computers. They call them Iphones."
"But how can they make calls if there's no cord? Do they use radio waves?"
"Damned if I know, but everyone has one. I'm going to see if the Lieutenant will let me get one tomorrow. They look really cool," said the medic."
"Think they'll let us take it back with us to the Special Region?" asked Abram.
"I don't see why they wouldn't. Unless they're going to throw us in prison for what the Lieutenant did."
"Think that they would?" asked the small marksman with no small amount of trepidation.
"I hope not. I think we should try not to think about it."
"Yeah," agreed Abram.
"Have you ever wondered what the people from the Special Region think of all our technology? I mean this stuff blows my mind. What do you think they think of all of this?"
"No idea," said Abram truthfully.
Xxx
Magic. It was all some kind of new fucking magic and Ianthe didn't care what anyone else told her that it was. From the talking boxes with people in them to doors that moved on their own to the horseless carriages. She was going to try and stop understanding how everything worked and just nod, smile, and accept any other weird thing that happened to reveal itself as some new magic.
She had originally been slated to share accommodations with the elf Luella, but it seemed that those arrangements had not been to her liking and she had all but thrown a tantrum in the lobby of this giant inn. Ianthe had wanted to cuff her upside the head, but instead her lord had caved in and she had gotten her way. So now Luella was with Boris and she was Feliks.
In all honesty she quite liked this arrangement much better. She now shared the same quarters as her liege and as such could fulfill all of her duties as his sworn sword. Not to mention that the quarters she was given was more than fitting for her station and she had to admit it stoked her ego to have such luxurious quarters. The bed even! Big enough for four people and yet it was only for her and Feliks had one of his own. She also liked being near Feliks as well to ensure his protection. Although she wasn't sure how to use this...shower.
Ianthe was standing in a sterile white bathroom with a large mirror that no longer surprised her to see its size or quality. It seemed glass was cheaper than water here too, but she had no idea how that was possible either. We was staring at a pair of handles in a tub trying to figure out how it worked. Feliks had used it and briefly showed her how to use it. She was stripped to the waist and kept pulling up the metal pin necessary to have a shower, but it kept falling down which was doing nothing but aggravating her.
"Fucking thing, stay up," cursed Ianthe pulling up the metal pin, holding it and glaring at it, staring at it, like she was daring it to go back down. Letting it go, it fell back down with a soft clink.
"FUCKING CUNT!" yelled Ianthe banging her fist off the wall.
"Feliks, the damn thing doesn't work! Wait, umm. Feliks. Come...help. Come help Feliks," said Ianthe finding the proper words in Russian.
"Yes? Ah!" said her employer in shock, looking away quickly after opening the door to the washroom.
Ianthe practically growled in frustration. She was in no mood for his overly prudish behavior and striding forwards with purpose, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the washroom with her, heedless of his protests.
"Work. Make work," said Ianthe gesturing forcefully at the bath.
After a moments hesitation and still red faced he held up the metal pin and turned one of the handles in the tub. Soon, water was gushing out of a spout near the top of the bath and raining warm water down below.
"Thank you," said Ianthe and continued undressing for the bath. She didn't know whether to laugh or get angry when her employer almost tripped in his haste to get out, like he was afraid of womanly parts. She didn't think he was like her brother, but you never knew. If he kept that it would actually start making her feel like she was malformed or something. I mean, she was muscular sure, but that didn't mean she wasn't feminine. Dammit! He was already making her self conscious!
Ianthe's eyes fixated with on Felix's bare back in surprise. The skin on a large portion of it was mottled, like it had been burned or cut, possibly both. She only had a moment to look at it before the door was slammed closed, cutting off her view of it. What could have done that?
Alone, Ianthe took out the metal bands that kept her ears pinned to the side of her head and sighed in relief when the sprung back into place like a branch pulled back and let go. Rubbing them in relief and feeling the one twitch involuntarily in response. Being an elf, even half elvish in Messalon was to be viewed upon with suspicion and mistrust due to the Southern Raiders and so Ianthe took every measure she could to hide her mother's heritage. Having gone so far as to duel several men who had dared to say she was more elf than human. Still, it felt nice to not have them bound.
Xxx
Luella woke to quiet grunts and unsteady breathing. Yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes she looked over and saw Boris gripping his bedding tightly and shifting back and forh. Throwing back the covers and clad in her new pink pajamas, she made her way over to him, concerned.
He was sweating profusely and his eyes were moving quickly beneath his eyelids, as if though they were trying to escape. His head would turn back and forth, grunts like half formed words coming intermittently from him.
Luella was terrified for a moment that he was possessed or that maybe dying, but after taking a moment to calm herself she realized that it wasn't the case. These were his memories tormenting him. His pasts deeds refusing to let him rest peacefully.
Conflicted because she wasn't supposed to use her magic unless the need was dire and her desire to help, Luella hesitantly reached out with her power to see what was wrong and if she was right.
As soon as her mind touched his, she felt what he felt. His rage, his pain, his fear, his regret, and his fear. Images of blood and death assaulted her and Luella gathered her will and stopped the flow of emotions. If one was not careful they could become entirely embroiled in such a strong emotional experience and it could damage them just as much as the person that it was tormenting. It was especially dangerous for one of Luella's potential.
Yet even though she had blocked the flow of images, she couldn't stop a few tears from falling for the heavy burden that Boris carried every day of his life. Of the pain he hid from sight. Luella wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of her pajama top and cradled his head in her lap. So embroiled was he in his past memories that he never woke. Then she began to sing.
Low and softly, her very blood imbuing her words with power, Luella washed away his suffering, banishing his terrors back to the depths of his mind where they had come from. She took out his fear, his anger, and his suffering as if she was drawing pus from a wound. She sang until he no longer gripped his sheets with knuckles so white they threatened to break the skin. Until his body was no longer wracked by tremors quivered and trembled and his eyes no longer flicked about crazily. Soon his breathing was deep, relaxed, and rhythmic. His muscles relaxed and still. Luella smiled and leaned down, kissing Boris atop of his bald head, before laying him back down upon his pillows.
Finding that she wasn't quite ready to go back to sleep, Luella found her way out to the balcony of her room. The stone was cool on her feet, cold even, but for the moment she could stand it. The city was beautiful, even at night it was lit up brightly with so many different colors. It was a world so foreign and alien to her own that she wondered if it was possible that it could even exist at all. The air was dirty though. Smelling of alchemical means and irritating her throat. Was this what technology would bring to her world? But more importantly, would the Apostles allow it?
With a click, Luella was captured forever in a picture by a camera looking at her from another tower. With another click, she was captured again, yet in a different pose. The clicking never stopped the entire time she was on the balcony.
AN: Well that's another chapter done. Tell me what you guys think and if you like the little flashbacks I do or if you would prefer that I stop doing them and who you would like to make more interaction with. Thanks for reading and thanks for being patient.