An Aimless War - Chapter 45: Chapter 45

It was late and raining heavily. A young man walked down the thin, winding streets of Zianna's lower city, his shoulders hunched and hood pulled up to protect his head. It was a common joke among Native Zians that they were allergic to rain. It was uncommon and most people barricaded themselves inside during bad weather.
By the time he reached the small house that was his destination, the young man was thoroughly drenched. He pushed open the door and stepped into the house cautiously, not wanting to alert his family that he was home just yet. He hung up his cloak on one of the rusty hooks by the door, and slipped off his boots before stepping into the main room of the little house.
The room was dominated by a large fireplace on the far wall, the one thing about the house the young man liked. There were a few chairs, a single table and in one corner, a little kitchen area. Ignoring the looks from his mother and two sisters, the young man walked over to the fire and held out his hands, relishing the warmth.
"Terrow!" His mother's voice broke into in thoughts and he turned around with a sigh. She was standing in the kitchen area, cutting up some vegetables she was about to make into a stew. His younger sisters, who had been chatting animatedly, fell silent.
"Yes, mother?" Terrow asked dryly. He knew what she wanted, it was the same routine every time he got home, but for some reason he continued to ask. As if he hoped that one day she might say something different.
"How much did he pay you?"
Terrow sighed. Would it really be that hard to welcome him home like a normal mother? "Twenty siyas."
"Only twenty?" His mother frowned and turned her attention to the vegetables once again. "How am I supposed to feed this family with twenty siyas?"
Terrow shrugged. "I moved crates, mother. It isn't a high paying job."
"You should demand more money."
"And then I'll be fired."
"Maybe if you were a better worker you'd get a raise."
"That isn't how it works!" Terrow shouted. It caught his mother off guard, he rarely rose his voice to her. His sisters snuck out of the room, wanting to avoid the coming fight.
"Do not yell at me, young man," Terrow's mother replied sternly. With a splash, she dumped the chopped vegetables into a pot. "Virra, Parria! If you want to eat any dinner you'd better come help make it! Terrow," she said more quietly, looking across the room at her only remaining son. "If you want to eat you'd better make enough money to buy food."
Terrow didn't bother pointing out that he had made enough money to buy food for himself. He also didn't bother pointing out that he didn't need to stick around to take care of his family. He just stared at his mother a little longer and then left the main room.
The little house had a main floor and a small attic room. The attic was where Terrow's sisters slept. Their mother slept in the second room on the main floor. Terrow had claimed what was basically a closet for himself. It was just big enough to fit a mattress. Terrow slipped inside and closed the door firmly behind him. He shoved a little piece of wood under the door to make sure it stayed shut, since the door didn't quite fit the frame anymore.
Annoyed, hungry and still damp, Terrow stretched out on his mattress and fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning Terrow woke up to the sound of his sisters and mother talking in the main room. He lay in bed a little longer, trying to delay the tedious day ahead like he always did, then finally got up. After changing into a different set of equally dirty clothes, Terrow stepped out of his little room. His family was sitting at the table, each with a bowl of porridge. Terrow's stomach rumbled at the sight.
Parria, the younger and kinder of his sisters, stood up and offered Terrow her bowl. It was half full. He knew that it was all she had been given, but he was too hungry to care. She'd eaten last night. Before his mother could complain, he gulped down the food as quickly as he could and handed the bowl back to his sister. "Thank you."
She smiled shyly and returned to the table.
"Parria," their mother spoke up. "That was the last of our food."
Parria shrugged. "Well, then it only makes sense that Terrow should get it. If he's going to go out and work he needs to be strong. Otherwise how will he make more money?"
"If he wasn't so lazy we'd have more money," Virra scoffed. She was becoming more and more like their mother every day.
Terrow began to walk towards the front door. "I'll be back late, probably."
"Terrow, you didn't give me the siyas from yesterday."
He walked back over to the table and dropped two brass coins in front of his mother. "You could thank me."
"For twenty siyas?" His mother grabbed the coins greedily. "Bring back more and I'll thank you."
"No, you won't," Terrow called over his shoulder. At the door, he paused. "I know I'm not Errol, mother, but I'm the only son you have left. Think about that." He pulled on his boots and grabbed his cloak quickly, and as the door closed behind him he heard the beginning of his mother's furious reply.
Terrow headed down the familiar path that would take him to the dock warehouses, lost in thought. Mentioning Errol always worked to infuriate his mother, but it also upset him. At nineteen, he was two years older than Errol had been when he'd been killed in a bar fight. It was a painful thought, that he was older than his older brother ever got to be. Four years ago, when they'd received the news of Errol's death, Terrow hadn't thought that one day he'd have to support his family. It had never even crossed his mind. It also hadn't crossed his mind that his mother loved Errol more than she had ever loved him. Both facts had become painfully clear in the year following Errol's death.
Terrow was drawn out of his lonely thoughts when he found that his usual path to the docks was blocked off by a huge crowd. He tried to figure out what was going on but he could hardly see past the crowd. Gently, he touched the arm of a woman nearby to get her attention. "What's happened?"
The woman shrugged. "Dunno, but the king is here."
"The king?"
"That's what I heard."
Terrow could hardly believe it. The king never ventured into the lower city. It was unbelievable that he would ever step a single foot past the gate. Terrow carefully moved through the crowd. King or not, he had to make it to work on time.
Then, he saw the king.
The man stood on top of a building facing the wide, crowded street. Terrow had always imagined the king wearing excessive amounts of gold. But this king, this new, young king, was dressed much more sensibly in a dark tunic and pants. He wasn't even wearing a crown, but Terrow knew he was the king. Despite wanting to get to the port on time, he stopped walking. Around him, people were clapping tentatively. Terrow did as well, staring up at the young king and the two men who stood on either side of him.
"People of Zianna," the king called. Terrow was close enough to hear him. "I am King Tandrin, previously of West Draulin. I realize, in the past, we Teltans haven't treated you the way we should. But it is time for this to change. We are all Ziannan citizens, be us Native Zians, Teltans, Crelans, or any of the other people who live in our kingdom. King Deorun has waged war against all of us! He tries to claim that he's doing it for your good. That he'll treat you like brothers and sisters, but this is not true. Deorun will come, and they will treat you just as my ancestors did. I want to change things. I want to be the king who mends the rift between us. I thought my efforts would have to wait until after the war, but I've recently been given some very good advice. With your help, we can begin to mend the rift, and mend our kingdom, as we work together to protect it from Deorun."
The war. Terrow had heard rumours, but he hadn't given them much thought. A far away war wasn't something he needed to worry about. His daily life was hard enough. But he was intrigued by the king's words. A king who wanted to change things—or at least, a king who claimed he wanted to change things. That idea alone was worth listening to the rest of the speech.
"At the moment, I can't promise to give everyone money, or immediately change the way we all live," the king continued. "I can't start restoration on your temple in the upper city. But I can offer you the respect and protection every one of my citizens deserves. I can offer you the chance to fight for your kingdom. To those willing to enlist, I promise training and good quality weaponry, and a regular soldier's pay. This is war, and I won't lie to you by saying we will all survive, but I can promise you that your families will be taken care of if Siour finds you on the battlefield."
Around Terrow, some people cheered. Terrow almost did as well. Four words repeated themselves in his head. A regular soldier's pay. With that kind of money he could buy his own house. He could buy as much as he wanted. He pictured himself walking through his family's door, bloody and victorious, carrying a pouch of siyas. Surely then his mother would love him as much as she had loved Errol.
Movement on top of the building drew his attention again, but it wasn't the king. It was a Native Zian. Terrow tried to focus on the boy. He seemed slightly familiar. Not so much the way he looked, but his presence beside the king. Terrow was sure he had heard rumours about a Native Zian boy. A thief who had been involved in some event with the previous king.
The boy started to speak. "Some of you know who I am. Maybe you've seen me in passing. Maybe I beat you in a game of Stampede, or sold you some stolen goods. Maybe I've stolen from you. Maybe you've heard about the Zian thief who managed to avoid being hanged. But no matter how you might have heard of me, one thing is clear. I grew up here, on the streets. Like everyone in the lower city, my life was filled with hardships. We can't change what happened in the past, but we can change what happens in the future. We can put those hardships behind us. The king is right. King Deorun is attacking all of us. He doesn't care whether we're Zians or Telts. He wants to get rid of, or control, all of us."
Someone near Terrow suddenly shouted, "Deorun is going to kill the Telts!"
The boy raised his arms. "Yes! King Deorun wants to kill all the Telts in our country. But what will that leave us? We're not going to be respected or treated any better. We'll be ruled by Deorans instead of Telts. Right now, we have a king who is interested in changing and learning. We have a king who came to the lower city to talk to us all directly. Zianna is our kingdom! It was our kingdom long before the Telts arrived! Are we really going to trust them to defend it without our help?"
Along with what felt like most of the crowd, Terrow cheered. He liked the idea of protecting the kingdom, but more than that, he liked the idea of the money. Of his mother looking at him the way she had always looked at Errol. He would do anything for that.
The cheering died down when the king stepped forward again. "For the next few weeks, there will be soldiers posted by the gate. If you would like to enlist, speak to them. When you start training, your weekly pay will begin. Thank you for your attention, and may Zianesa bless us all in the coming war."
Chatter broke out all around Terrow as the king stepped back. People were looking around, talking about the war, or enlisting. Terrow heard a pair of older women discussion the king's comment about restoring their temple. He heard a woman telling a man not to enlist, that it was too dangerous. He heard a group of young men boasting about how rich they were going to be.
He was going to enlist. He knew it without a doubt. Terrow fought through the crowd to head towards the main gate. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to concentrate on work with all of this rattling around his head. By the time he made it to the gate, a messy line had already formed in front of handful of soldiers. One of the men was sitting at a table, trying to talk to one person at a time.
Terrow looked at the gate, then made up his mind. He was already late. So he joined the line. It moved slowly, so he watched the people around him. He thought he caught a glimpse of the king leaving through the gate, followed a moment later by someone who looked very similar. As he was trying to puzzle out who the younger noble was, someone else caught his eye.
He blinked, not sure if what he was seeing was real. "Or...Orri?"
The boy turned around, and for a heartbeat Terrow was sure he had been wrong. The boy looked like his younger brother, but he was taller and leaner and, Terrow reminded himself, four years older than the last time they'd seen each other.
"Nobody calls me that," Orrun said, crossing his arms.
Terrow fumbled over something to say. "I always did."
His younger brother shrugged. "That was before you let mother starve Leker."
"Orri, I... I didn't let her," Terrow protested. "She just... I couldn't make enough money."
"Did you care when we left?"
"Of course I cared! I looked for you whenever I wasn't at work. Both of you. If I had found you, I... I would have..."
"We didn't want to be found," Orrun said sharply.
Terrow was taken aback. The Orrun he remembered had been shy and polite. Four years had really changed his little brother. He swallowed and glanced around. "Where's... is Leker..."
"Leker's fine. We're fine. We managed."
"I'm sorry," Terrow said. The line was moving, and he shuffled along with it. "Orrun, I'm sorry for everything. I should have made sure you and Leker were treated better. But he wasn't our full brother and six children is a lot and I was—I just wanted... I just—"
"You're not Errol. Stop trying to be him."
Terrow winced. "What? What do you mean?"
"You're not Errol," Orrun repeated. "I always liked you better. You were always nicer than him. This—" he gestured at the table and soldiers ahead of them. "This is something Errol would do."
Orrun didn't understand. Terrow shook his head. "No, it's something a desperate man solely taking care of his family does. I need the money. Maybe if you came home and got a job, you could help me out."
Orrun scoffed. "You want me and Leker to come help support the people who abandoned us?"
A taller, lankier boy stepped up beside Orrun. "We need to go, Baisan's waiting."
"Right. Terrow," Orrun said. "Just make sure that if you sign up, it's because you want to. Not because mother's making you or because it's what Errol would do."
Terrow nodded. In that moment he vowed to himself that if he survived, he would give his little brothers, both of them, some of the money he earned. "I'm going to do it," he said firmly. "But after, I want to reconnect. With you and Leker, if you'll let me."
He might have imagined the tiny smile that flickered across Orrun's face. "All right. I'll ask Zianesa to keep you safe." Then with a nod, he followed the other boy and disappeared into the crowd.
"Next."
Startled, Terrow turned to see that he had made it to the front of the line. "I'd... um... like to enlist."
The soldier gave him a brief once-over. "Name, age, working experience." He dipped his quill into the little pot of ink and hovered over the end of an already long list.
"Terrow, sir. Nineteen. Warehouse worker."
The solider recorded his information. "Any specific unit you think you'll be suited for? You'll be tested, but it'll speed up the process if you already have any fighting skills."
"No, I—" Terrow hesitated, and Orrun's words came back to him. About being himself instead of Errol. Before he could second guess himself, or even really give the idea much thought, he said, "Is it possible to be trained as a medic, sir?"
"A medic?" The solider looked at him again. "You look fit, you should be fighting."
Behind him, another man chimed in. "There's always room for more medics. Sign him up."
The first soldier grumbled under his breath and added a note to Terrow's row. Then he reached under the table and pulled out a tiny scroll bound with a piece of red twine. "This is your pass. When the training grounds are ready, you need to have this, or you won't be admitted. Now move along. Next!"
Terrow stepped out of the way and unfurled the little scroll. It simply had a number, which Terrow assumed matched up with his place on the long list. He wrapped the scroll back up and slipped it into his pocket, only to pull out another piece of parchment.
This piece had been unfolded and refolded so many times it was almost falling apart. It was the pass allowing him to leave the lower city for his job in the port. He went to the gate and handed it over, waiting patiently as the regular guards read the pass and opened the gate for him.
As he walked towards the port, he tucked his working pass back in his pocket. His fingers felt the little scroll and he smiled. He could work in the warehouses for another week or two. He could put up with his mother's anger, and Virra's cruelty. Because soon he would be off, learning how to be a medic. When he got home he could open an apothecary and take on Parria as an assistant, and he could give both of his little brothers some money. Or maybe they could work for him.
Lost in his daydreams, Terrow headed down to his last few weeks as a physical labourer, happy for the first time in years.