The Angaran Chronicles: The General and the Poet.

Chapter 3

She sat there for Jaroai only knew how long, just staring at the wall. She didn't move; she didn't even think.

Hazed white bordered her view, almost like she was staring down her rifle's scope.

Four words then seemed to push through her skull and into her mind, making the haze slither away, which caused her brow to furrow and her eyes to narrow. That made her stand and head for her room.

I have to go.

It was an uncharacteristically calm, warm day for Zathar. Her high heeled foot crunched on the gravel as she stepped out of her mother's old Calister 4400. Raleas wore the black dress she'd bought for the funeral; she'd even applied makeup for the first time in ages. Her mother had taught her how over a few days when Raleas was thirteen, and Raleas had humoured her. Now Raleas treasured that memory. At first, she'd been tempted to leave and get to the service as quickly as she could, but she'd still used the time to 'pretty' herself, mostly to honour that memory.

It was one of the few happy times she'd spent with her mother.

The church was surrounded by hundreds of motor vehicles of all levels of quality and makes; she'd parked almost right in the entrance, having manoeuvred through the maze with ease.

Like all the churches of Jaroai, it loomed over everything around, its bell tower at least twelve stories tall. Its white walls were so pure that they seemed to reflect the sunlight almost as powerfully as a mirror. On small, white pillars, single triangular, varnished oak beams lined the walls about a metre from the church, just beneath the brown, angled thatched roof. They were decorated with curling, whirling gold eight-pointed stars, the sign of the Jaroaian religion.

Raleas stormed toward the stairs, where two soldiers stood in full ceremonial uniform, both about two metres tall and built like brick shithouses.

She knew them both; Sergeant Kalvik and Private Dulgress served under her father in 'The Savages', the elite of the regiment who were the very best of the best of Zathar's already elite military. Some would say that was debatable, but Raleas knew it was true.

'We are under orders not to let you in, ma'am,' said Kalvik. His voice was hollow, like tapping an empty glass bottle on a ceramic pipe as if he knew the order was bullshit.

Raleas clenched her jaw, unsurprised her father would order this. She fought the urge to throw her fist at the veteran's face, knowing it wouldn't end in her favour. Not at all.

'You aren't seriously going to keep me from my own mother's funeral, sergeant?' she said.

Kalvik wasn't a handsome man. He was chinless; his neck and face almost seemed to mould together into a brown cliff face. His eyes would've been too small for his narrow face even if they weren't permanently thin in disdain.

But he wasn't a disdainful man despite his outward appearance.

'You aren't getting in, ma'am,' he said. 'Now, please leave before we have to make you.'

Raleas didn't move, her gaze fixed onto his.

'Sergeant Kalvik,' she said. 'You are a soldier, aren't you?'

Kalvik's brow twitched. 'I have since conscription, ma'am. But-'

'But nothing, soldier,' she said. 'And what did they teach you in the academy?'

'To follow orders-'

'That's not what I mean, sergeant, and you know it,' she said. 'You know to what I'm referring to.'

Kalvik sighed. 'It isn't-'

'Just say it.'

'All right, all right,' he hissed through clenched teeth. 'They taught us that sometimes, an order must be ignored, but only if it's in the direst of circumstances and only if the soldier knows the very second that it is given, it is detrimental, evil and worst of all, subverts the will of he who is above all,-'

'Jaroai,' said Raleas. 'And do you think in all his benevolence and love would approve of a daughter being forced to miss her mother's funeral?

Kalvik grimaced.

'Don't tell me you think that's good or right? You're a soldier, a human being, not an orc.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'Or a monster.'

Rage, sudden, horrific ensnared Kalvik's face. The rage which was held in check by the slightest of margins.

'What are you implying?'

'I think it's obvious, isn't it? If you don't, step aside and let me say farewell to my mother. I will never forgive you; you will always be a monster no better than an orc. Worse than even my father for ordering this! Let me in, now, Kalvik.'

'I'll-I'll,' Kalvik said. 'I'll be kicked out of the army.'

Raleas shrugged. 'Maybe, but I'm sure you could take it to the tribunal, and I will act as witness. Surely they wouldn't agree with this travesty? Would they?'

Kalvik straightened. 'I-I don't know.'

Raleas said nothing, only glared at him, fighting back the tears.

'Sir,' said Dulgress, making Raleas and Kalvik turn, both having forgotten he was there. Dulgress was Kalvik's adjutant, thus his second in command. Dulgress, unlike his sergeant, looked like the stereotypical elite soldier. His jaw was ludicrously square, so square his face seemed almost shaped like an oblong. His forehead was as thick as Raleas' bicep, and like Raleas and most Zatharians, his complexion was almost pure white from living in so far south. Raleas had no idea how Kalvik managed to get his tan. Dulgress' small, blue eyes watered beneath his hooded brow. 'Permission to speak, sir.'

'You are my adjutant, Dulgress. You don't need permission. Speak.'

Dulgress scratched the back of his skull and shuffled his foot. It was a surprisingly young movement from a soldier like him.

'With respect, sir. I-I asked because I thought you won't like what I am going to say. But it's too late now. She's right, and she's so right it isn't even worth pointing out. I would rather be kicked out of the military...I would rather die than stand here a minute longer. This is fucked, sir. Completely fucked.

Kalvik's jaw dropped so quick, Raleas swore she heard it click and felt a smile speared through her stern expression.

Kalvik sighed, placed his hand against his face and turned back to Raleas. 'You're an arse, private. You know that, right?'

Dulgress grinned. 'That's the nicest thing you have ever said to me, sir. Thank you.'

The sergeant stepped aside and beckoned Raleas onward. 'You're free to go, young ma'am.'

Raleas nodded and started to step forwards when Dulgress cleared his throat. 'And if the young ma'am would allow us the honour, we'd be honoured to be her escorts, wouldn't we, sir?'

Kalvik sniffed. 'Of course, we would, if she allows us, of course?'

Raleas nodded again. 'Yes, that'd be good, thank you. Both of you.'

The trio then began to ascend the stairs.