Victor of Tucson

Book 8: Chapter 7: Lam

Book 8: Chapter 7: Lam

Lam sat in her tent, just a small canvas thing with a woolen blanket on the floor and her pack for a pillow. She could hear the others outside, talking, laughing, and carrying on about the women from Ardvale Falls, a small hamlet the cohort had marched through earlier that day. She frowned, pulled her polishing kit from her storage ring, and got to work on her boots. Lieutenant Vas had given her two demerits earlier for the scuffs on the leather.

She grimaced in anger and embarrassment at the memory. Of course, she knew the boots needed polish, but they’d been marching for days, and there were plenty of soldiers with boots in far worse condition. “Why do we even have to do this? How much would it cost for a few enchantments to keep this leather looking nice?” She angrily smeared the red-brown polish into the leather. She knew the answer all too well; the same reason they had to carry packs when most everyone had dimensional containers—character.

Hadn’t Captain Trov-dak gone on and on about it when she’d addressed the recruit cohort? A soldier who cares for their gear appreciates their gear. A soldier who carries their equipment on their back knows the worth of that equipment. She’d heard similar things from her father when she was young. He wouldn’t buy her a book about Evi ap’Sheni, the Blue Deep assassin, but he let her work for a week in the family store to earn the money herself. What had his lesson been? If she earned it, she’d appreciate it. Her father would have fit right in with the Legion.

“Ah, father, I didn’t think I’d miss you so soon,” she sighed, setting the boot down to dry before buffing. Had she really run away? The thought came to her out of nowhere. Had she really broken her father’s heart and abandoned the family business? For what? To play at swords and spears with a bunch of crude, loud, sex-starved adolescents?

As if to punctuate the thought, she heard Fol guffaw and shout, “Ancestors be true! She was asking for it!”

Lam bit her lip, wanting to shout something equally rude in defense of the unnamed woman, but knew better than to stir that hornet’s nest. She picked up her tin of polish, spitting a little too vehemently into it. She worked the saliva around with her rag until she had a good amount of dark, oily stain to smear on the second boot. She was just setting the finished product beside the other to dry when she heard footsteps outside her tent. “Recruit Lam!” It was Sergeant Gonda. Lam felt her stomach start to churn with butterflies at the sound of his voice. The huge Vodkin never had a pleasant word on his tongue.

She quickly leaned forward and threw the tent flap wide. “Yes, sir?”

“Get your boots on and walk with me.” He didn’t wait; he just turned and started lumbering away. Lam jerked her boots onto her feet, wishing she’d had time to buff the polish. The damp leather would attract dust and dirt, and she’d have to start over. She scrambled after Gonda, and the men sitting around the cookpot—members of her own squad—laughed as she almost tripped over her long, gangly legs; she’d grown a lot in the last few years and was still awkward with her body. She caught up to the sergeant and walked a pace behind and to his left as he trudged down the central row of the cohort’s encampment.

“Recruit Lam, I’m going to have a talk with you that I reserve for a few individuals from every enlistment cohort.”

“Yes, sir.” Lam had a feeling this was a bad thing, and she didn’t know what a proper response was, so she went with the old standby.

“I can see you’re struggling to fit in. I reviewed your enlistment interview, and I think it might be wise to reconsider your decision. The Legion isn’t the place for a runaway Ghelli. It’s something of a miracle you’ve been here for more than a month and haven’t gotten seriously injured, killed, or worse, ravaged by one of the men.”

Lam’s mouth fell open at the sergeant’s words. She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful that he was concerned or angry that he expected so little from her. “Thank you for your concern, Sergeant—”

“I’m not concerned about you, recruit!” he barked, cutting her off. “I don’t want to lose good men dealing with a tribunal when you bring forth accusations!” He stopped, turned, and regarded her, frowning through the yellowed tusks that hung over his furry chin. “I’m giving you a choice: discharge with no dishonor or transfer to the Beneset Steppes Garrison. You’ve got until first duty to make a decision.”

“B-Beneset Steppes, sir?” She’d heard of the place, the great plains north of the Empire, where raiders and roving bands of primitive monster tribes were a constant threat.

“That’s right. Do the smart thing, young lady. Go home.” His dark, black eyes narrowed, and he shook his head slightly. “I hope you can see I’m trying to help you.” With that, he turned and stomped away, his heavy, enormous boots thudding on the freshly raked dirt. He called over his shoulder, “Dismissed.”

As despair gripped her heart, Lam listlessly walked back to her tent. She barely lifted her feet, no longer able to muster any concern for the dirt caking the damp leather of her boots. When she reached her squad’s cookfire, most of them were sitting around eating. No one offered her anything from the pot. No one called out, asking if things were all right. She was sure she heard whispers and snickers, though. They were always teasing her—she was too light. Her bones were hollow. Why would a pretty girl with fragile wings want to wear the Legion uniform? It didn’t help that she was the only female on the squad. It didn’t help that she’d never seen another Ghelli in the cohort.

She closed her eyes and, still lying under the fabric of her collapsed tent, she tried to make herself sleep. She pictured the Beneset Steppes, and suddenly, the idea of being sent there didn’t seem so bad. Maybe the men and women garrisoned near the frontier would be different. Maybe they’d recognize her potential and treat her as a fellow soldier despite her inexperience. Something about the idea felt right. She wasn’t sure if it was the anger destroying her sadness and despair, but she suddenly felt like she wanted to go there. Like the next step in her journey lay in that direction. It almost felt like the person she was supposed to be would be waiting for her if she just started down that path.

When the horns blew the morning wake-up call, announcing the first duty, Lam opened her eyes to see that the fabric of her tent was no longer black with night. She could make out faint, gray light through its coarse material. With winces and shuddering gasps of pain, she wormed her way out of it. When she emerged on hands and knees, she could hear others moving around the circle of her squad’s tents. She could hear whispers and curses, but none came over. No one asked what was wrong. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still stung knowing they’d either been aware or active participants in the beating. Lam bit down on that sadness. She chewed it up and found that warm glow of anger.

When she struggled to her feet, barefoot in the dirt, her boots tangled in the tent behind her, she leaned over and coughed until a long string of bloody drool hung from her lips. She wiped the bloody saliva with the back of her hand, smearing it across her chin, and looked around the camp with bloodshot, furious eyes. Not one of her squadmates would meet her gaze. “Cowards,” she grunted, then leaned forward and spat another wad of bloody phlegm.

She’d just turned to try to dig her boots, blanket, and pack out of her tent when heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel-strewn dirt behind her. She heard her squadmates clamber to their feet and get quiet, so she knew it was the sergeant. He stopped behind her and cleared his throat, so Lam turned and offered him a salute, slower than was appropriate but faster than she could move without pain.

“Recruit,” he grunted. He eyed her up and down but didn’t ask about her bruised and bloodied condition. Lam wasn’t surprised. “Have you made your decision? We have a supply wagon leaving for Gelica in a few hours.”

Lam narrowed her white-blonde eyebrows and trained her bloodshot, bright green eyes on his, staring at him for several long seconds. When he blinked, she said, “I’ll go to the Beneset Steppes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.”

#

“I believe she’s doing well,” Dar grunted, distracting Victor from his worry.

“What’s it like for her?” he asked, glancing away from Lam’s still, pale face to his mentor.

“The crucible will use memories from her mind to test her. It may change some minor details, but the overall goal of the ritual is to create an intelligent enchantment that will attempt to break her spirit in various ways. It’s up to her to retain her focus and find her way back to herself. If she succumbs, well, she won’t.”

“Dammit,” Victor groaned, hating the idea that he couldn’t help her more than just holding her hand and urging her “be strong” and “keep fighting.” He’d been doing so for what felt like an hour already. “If it seems like she isn’t going to make it, can we stop this? Yeah, I know I should’ve asked that before we started.”

“If she fails, we may be able to rescue a vestige of her spirit, but it might be less cruel to simply free the shard in her body, allowing her to pass on.” Dar’s tone was final, and Victor stewed on that for a minute. He was distracted from his concern again when Dar chuckled and said, “She surprises me!”

“How?” Not for the first time, Victor was annoyed by Dar’s ability to see so much more than he could.

“I wove your rage into many of the crucible’s trials, thinking it would be another barrier, but she seems to be using it more often as a lever to break out of my other traps—despair and fear, mostly. Take heart in that, boy. With glory, inspiration, and hope mixed in, I believe she’ll find the breadcrumbs she needs to return to herself.”

“Fuck yeah, hermana,” Victor said, squeezing Lam’s slender hand again, willing his words to reach her. “You got this. Show them what you’re made of! Show them all!”