Through the Darkness

If he came home to the little village of Kunhegyes on leave, his family wouldn’t know what the scar meant. They would welcome him into their bosom with glad cries and open arms, as they had the last time he’d got away from the war for a little while. They would have no idea he was, at best, only marginally purified from the uncleanness into which he’d fallen. If he didn’t tell them, they would never learn. He could live out his life in the valley with no one the wiser.

He looked at the scar again. Whether his kinsfolk knew or not, he would know. He could imagine the knowledge eating away at him, day by day, month by month, year by year. He could imagine himself screaming out the truth one day, just because he couldn’t stand to hold it in any more. What he knew counted for more than what anyone else knew.

Szonyi spat into the flames. His saliva sizzled for a moment and then was gone. He said, “We’re a warrior race. We’re here because we’re a warrior race. Sooner or later, we’ll win because we’re a warrior race. We’re too stubborn to quit, by the stars.”

“Aye,” Istvan said. In a way, that was the other side of the coin to his own thoughts. Gyongyosians did what they did because of what was inside of them, not because of any outside force.

And then Kun spat, too, in utter contempt. “Oh, aye, that’s why we’ll be marching into Cottbus week after next,” he said.

“There aren’t enough of us here,” Istvan protested.

“More of us than there are Unkerlanters,” the onetime mage’s apprentice said.

“Well, but...” Istvan’s wave encompassed the forest, or as much of it as remained visible through the drifting, swirling snow. “I’d call this place the arsehole of the world, but you need to know where your arsehole is once or twice a day. Nobody’s needed to know where these woods are since the stars made them.”

“We wouldn’t have come as far as we have if we weren’t a warrior race,” Szonyi said stubbornly. “Some of us still believe in things, we do. Next thing you know, some of us will say we’ve stopped believing in the stars.” He stared a challenge back at Kun.

But Istvan took him up on it: “No, nobody is going to say anything like that. I didn’t mean anything like that, and Kun didn’t mean anything like that, either.” If Kun did mean something like that, Istvan didn’t want to hear about it, and he didn’t want anybody else to hear about it. He went on, “Even a warrior can have enough of war for a while.”

“I suppose so.” Szonyi’s voice was grudging.

“If you don’t see that that’s true, you’re a bigger twit than anyone gives you credit for,” Kun said. “We’d be fighting among ourselves all the time if it weren’t.”

“Enough,” Istvan said, and used his own rank to make sure it was enough. Still, as far as he was concerned, Kun proved he came from a warrior race by the way he stood up to Szonyi. The hulking common soldier made two of the corporal, but Kun didn’t back away from him.

Off in the distance, a couple of eggs burst. Everyone’s head came up. “Are those ours or theirs?” somebody asked.

“We’ll find out,” Kun said, “probably the hard way.”

Istvan wanted to contradict him, but found he couldn’t. He did say, “Those are more likely to be theirs than ours. The Unkerlanters have an easier time bringing egg-tossers into the forest across the flatlands than we do hauling them over the cursed mountains.” That made it harder for the Gyongyosians to show their full mettle as a warrior race, too, though Istvan didn’t suppose Kun would ever admit as much.

More eggs burst, these closer to the fire. Istvan grimaced, then shoveled snow over the flames. Nobody said anything. The soldiers all looked to their sticks. Some of them took positions behind trees, from which they’d be able to blaze eastward if the Unkerlanters really did have an attack laid on.

Along with the thunder of bursting eggs--rather muffled by the snow-- came shouts. Istvan couldn’t tell what language they were in, but they kept getting closer, too. He found a place behind a spruce of his own. Trouble was heading this way. He didn’t know who’d started it, but he doubted whether that mattered.

Out of the snow came the first Unkerlanters, white smocks over their tunics and snowshoes on their feet. Istvan didn’t think they knew he and his men were in place waiting for them. From what he’d heard, the Unkerlanters had the edge against the Algarvians in the far east during the winter. That wasn’t so here. He and his fellow Gyongyosians knew as much about snow and ice and fighting in them as any Unkerlanter ever born.

He waited till the first Unkerlanter was almost on top of him before he started blazing. That way, he made sure he couldn’t miss, and that the blowing snow wouldn’t attenuate his beam. The Unkerlanter gave a startled grunt and toppled.

The rest of the men who fought for Swemmel stopped in alarm. One of them pointed west past Istvan, deeper into the woods. They thought the beam had come from that direction. When no more of them fell for a little while, they started moving forward again.