Faces of Feitas, part 3
It took Kyle another day to scrape together courage to once again sit in the lapping water. With his memories unclouded regarding his mother's murder, certain truths came to light. What he had feared was a dark pleasure in the killing. It didn't seem to be the case if he thought clearly.
He didn't enjoy killing the Swordman, although Sun knew he deserved it. The sheer force of the...It carried him along. Satisfaction filled Kyle, knowing that for all this time, the person who had killed his mother already had been slain by his own hand. The It seemed a dangerous thing to wield in the hands of a child.
Doubly so when used by someone much older. The Falenan's body tensed; he'd never forgotten the second use of the It, but instead buried it under years of life and training.
It's not because I used it I don't want to see, it's why I used It.
But if he was ever going to understand this part of self, he'd have to do it. Have to finally rip away the never-healed scab of feeling. Kyle kept his sword sheathed on the sand; he didn't need its help recalling this.
Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he whispered the name aloud and prepared for the pain.
“Mischa.”
Kyle squinted at the assignment card in his head and compared it to the tent signs in camp. Unlike a lot of volunteer members of the army, he could at least read. He might not have listened to a lot Volga had to say in trying to raise him, but Kyle did pay some attention to his schooling. I guess I owe him one for that. Oh, and what else did he say? They paired all kinds of people together in the army. His new tentmate might be a noble or farmer or old grizzled veteran.
He sighed. As long as his tentmate wasn't expecting a bonus in their living arrangement, he'd have to deal with whoever it was. Dealing with the sidelong stares and the snickering over his long blond hair he could handle. Anyone who sparred with him in Lelcar who made that mistake usually found themselves the brand new owner of a set of painful bruises. But kicking someone's ass in your own army had to be bad for morale or against regulations or something.
Kyle paused outside a tent and double checked the assignment. They matched. Oh well. I'll just hope he's an old guy who snores and go from there.
Crouching down, he scooted inside and surveyed an army regulation pack of supplies and the back of his tentmate. “Oh hey, sorry for barging in. I just got my orders to come here. I'll set this up and get out of your way. I got training in an hour anyway.”
The figure finished lacing up his boot and turned around. No farmer's son or old timer, Kyle's tentmate looked only a few years older than his own 17 years. Fluffy orange hair framed his face, despite being tied back into a serviceable braid. He smiled. “Oh, it's no trouble. They told me I'd be getting a tentmate soon anyway.” He held out a gloved hand. “Mischa Zenai.”
“Kyle of Lelcar,” Kyle responded, shaking the hand and waiting for the predictable response. Anyone considered a bastard child gave their hometown as their family name.
“Oh, you're from there? I'd always wanted to visit the town, but my parents never had the time to take me. Always running about their estate, you know,” Mischa said, waving a hand in the air.
Curious at the reaction, Kyle answered, amused, “No, I can't say that I would know.”
“Ah well. Say, are you decent with a sword at all? I heard they train tentmates together in the army.”
“I guess I'm decent, although I'm really good with a glaive. But I heard they only let their specialized spearmen handle those, so I'm stuck with a sword.”
“Marvelous! My fencing instructor said I'm absolutely horrid with a blade. Please say you'll help me out so the sergeants don't give me daily punishment for being a laughingstock?”
Quite unconsciously, Kyle found a smile tugging at his lips. “I'll see what I can do.”
Mischa Zenai, or just Mischa, as he preferred to be addressed, claimed the illustrious position of fifth in line to the Zenai estate. “Why not just call me useless baggage and be done with it?” he often said, usually after an ale or two.
At the age of 20, with little hope of inheriting any of the estate and possessing few other marketable skills, he decided to volunteer for the army. Although a noble could certainly buy an officer position, Mischa declined. “Honestly, if I have trouble remembering my sword patterns, how am I supposed to inspire my men to victory?”
The honesty of his own shortcomings and the willingness to learn anything quickly won Kyle over in the span of a day and soon they became the best of friends. Kyle made sure Mischa didn't get too beaten in practice and the finer points of living with the salt of the earth. Mischa told Kyle stories of living in a noble's world.
“You know, it's quite odd, but I'm the happiest here that I've ever been.”
“Maybe it's because you're doing something you want to do,” Kyle answered. “Seeing more of the world will do that to you.”
“What about you, oh best of companions?”
“I feel like I'm really doing something. Even if all I seem to do is end up digging latrines and peeling potatoes.”
“When you're not showing me the finer points of the ladies. Do you think those lovely bar maid lasses will remember us?”
“I bet they still talk about us, Mischa. And they'll be happy to thank us personally for saving Falena from Armes.”
Low chuckling filled the tent.
As lowly foot soldiers in the volunteer army, their particular battalion saw little in the way of massive pitched battles. Rooting out scouts and skirmishing with the foe was more the norm.
One day at the end of a long day of training, Kyle entered the tent and started peeling off his reeking gear. Mischa sat unmoving on his bed roll. “Mischa? Hey, you thinking or something?”
“I...I...killed someone today.”
“What? You saw some action today?” Kyle sat next to his friend. “What happened?”
“I don't even know. It all happened so fast. We surprised some Armes men. One of them came at me and all the training kicked in. Then the next thing I know, he was dead.”
“Did you get hurt at all?”
“No. He didn't touch me.” The noble stared at his hands. “But someone is dead because of me. He was alive but now...he's dead.”
For long minutes, both of them sat next to each other. But then, Mischa's facade broke down and his body shook in great hiccuping sobs. “He's the enemy and I killed him and I feel like this! What's wrong with me?!”
“Because...because you're a good person and even if you have to defend yourself, you don't want anyone to die. You're a better person because if he killed you, I bet he wouldn't be weeping over you.”
That night, without any words exchanged, they slept together in the literal sense. Mischa clung to Kyle's frame, crying out his tears and when they dried up, slept the sleep of the dead. Kyle stroked his friend's hair as it seemed to soothe the trembling.
In spite of that night or because of it, Mischa and Kyle rarely left the other's side. “You're my swordbrother now, Kyle. You could have called me a coward or done all kinds of things. But you helped me. We'll look after each other, like swordbrothers should.”
Kyle had seen swordbrothers and swordsisters here and there in his travels in Falena and even back in Lelcar. He never understood how you could tie yourself to somebody if you weren't married to them or weren't into the same sex. Now he had a pretty good inkling why.
Picking up on the mood in camp, they began to treat each day as a gift. Everyone was now going to fight in a large battle, led by the Queen's Knights in the forefront and in turn led by Commander Ferid.
Tentatively, the swordbrothers planned for the future. Mischa, having discovered a knack for organization and keeping track of supplies, decided he could work a business with his share of the family estate. Kyle, of course, would help him with guarding any caravans. Everything would work out as long as they both came out alive.
In the hour before they were forced to break camp, they both took one moment to stop what they were doing. Together, they held each other tightly. “I love you, swordbrother. Don't worry, Kyle. We'll both make it out of here and everything's going to be so much better.”
“I love you too, Mischa. Everything will be fine. Just, you never know, that's all.”