Mannily lifted the crate off the wagon, thankful its weight stopped his hands from shaking. He and his father had ridden behind the army with a cargo of dried meat. When the road crested a hill, he saw the King's army and all their tents laid out in Goddess' Grove. It was a brief view, yet the number far exceeded anything he had imagined. Terrifying.
"Worry not," his father said as he returned to the wagon for another armful. "We will leave the battle to the soldiers. We need but feed them." The pat on Mannily's shoulder was meant to settle him, yet all it did was startle.
"I said I would be there when it starts," Mannily argued. "Was I not given a sword?"
"Aye." His father chuckled. "You are meant to guard supplies, not rush forward to lose your head. It is not our fault we are built for other things. I blame your grandfather - it is his frail bones that hold us up." He grunted as he lifted another crate. "But he did give us a mind to help where we can. In wagoning, we outmatch all."
Mannily placed the crate next to the others. His father was planning to leave for Knacker Ridge and return with barrels of winter wheat. A three or four-day trip, of which Mannily wanted no part. "I mean to be on the line with the rest of them," he told his father. The idea of it almost made him ill. His hands started trembling again, so he moved quickly to the wagon to task them with more weight. Fear showed on him more than others, and he hated himself for it.
His father stopped unloading and stalled Mannily as well. "Did you not see some of what you will face? This wagon is our sword. If the Answer succeeds, we will be as much heroes as those who enter the battle. Unlike them, if the Answer fails, we will breathe and continue."
"And what of Kinday?" Mannily asked. He watched his father's face contort at the mention of his sister's name. It was a cruel thing to throw her name out. Mannily was tired of the cowardice that inundated his mind. At least he could sound brave.
"And you think the loss of you would return her," his father growled. "I feed the Answer's army in her name. Your death will do nothing to better her memory; it will only slow the wagon." There was logic fueled anger in his manner, something Mannily had rarely seen in his father.
"I remember her, father," Mannily said. Kinday was rarely spoken of, and only in whispers as if she had never walked the land - an older sister whose laugh a young brother still remembered fondly. Happiness fled the family at her choosing, and now Mannily knew of the Promise. False dreams of Kinday living as a princess were no longer possible.
Mannily's father sighed and sat on the wagon's back, patting a spot next to him. Mannily let his guard drop and took the offered seat.
"If I thought swords in our hands would do more good," his father said, "I would stand next to you in the line of battle. My memories of Kinday are deeper than yours, and the loss as painful."
"You do not speak of her," Mannily said. It was the first time in winters he had even heard his father speak her name.
"Aye," his father agreed, nodding his head with eyes finding the ground. "It was not possible to end a Choosing, yet it is I who should have tried. I choose to believe the Brother's words of how they would care for her. I knew nothing of the Promise, but still, I could smell the deceit." He looked up at Mannily. "It was like a boulder rolling down a hill, and I chose to step aside to allow it to shatter our home. I could not stop it, though, to this day, I wish I had lept in front of it."
"Do you know what I remember?" Mannily asked. "I remember Kinday and me hunting rabbits. She wanted one to hug, she told me. A trick that made her laugh as I chased the ones we came upon. It did not take long for me to realize I could not catch them. Yet, I pursued them to make her laugh and keep her at my side. I can still hear her when I close my eyes."
