The Captain's War

Chapter 10: Northward

Gradually, more survivors tricked into the gunners' camp. Clarity, Willow, and Silver kept largely to themselves, trying to stay out of the way of the scouts and newsrunners and other comings and goings. Word had gotten out that Tirovar was not admitting anyone from Murg, and people were beginning to congregate in uncomfortable numbers as they looked for somewhere else to lay down their heads. Once a day Clarity went to Lett the medic to have her arm tended to. The man was busy. Most of the refugees were injured, and as time wore on, those with the worst wounds started to arrive, those who had to be carried to the medic's tent. Clarity tried not to look at them. Many, she knew, would soon be dead, and she was afraid she might recognize one of their ravaged faces. So far she had encountered no one familiar at the camp. She kept Willow and Silver as far away from the makeshift infirmary as she could and tried not to think about what must have become of the rest of her Temple family.

After the first day, she got little sleep. She would lie between the younger children while they rested fitfully, listening to the sounds of their breathing. That, she was plenty used to. She couldn't remember a time when she's slept completely alone. The other noises kept her awake: the cries of babies, quiet groans from the infirmary, running footfalls, distant shouts-- all undercut by the low hum of tense, whispered conversation. Mosquitoes came to buzz in her ears. Despite the racket, she would eventually drift off, only to twitch into sweaty wakefulness at some new voice or animal call. The heat seemed to intensify after dark. When the sun set, the marsh breezes died away, leaving behind an oppressive stillness that smelled faintly of the camp's midden.

The third morning found Clarity crouching outside her shared tent. By the uncertain light of a hazy dawn, she tried to coax her frizzing hair into a pair of braids. She was acutely aware of how dirty and disheveled she must be. None of them had been able to bathe or change clothes since fleeing Murg, and her lack of cleanliness only contributed to her low mood. The braids, she hoped, would at least make her feel a little more human.

"Good morning. You're up early."

She looked around. Somehow, Brannen had managed to sidle over without her noticing. Now they made themself comfortable on a low stone that stuck up out of the needle-strewn earth, the brightness of their eyes at odds with their sleep-flushed face.

Clarity bit back an exasperated sigh. She did not feel up to conversation with anyone at the moment, especially not this ill-mannered birdling. She had not seen much of them nor their guardian these past few days. Sergeant Charles was strange, but she was kind, and Clarity felt she could trust her. Brannen, on the other hand, she could do without. "Good morning," she whispered. "Please be quiet. My friends are still asleep."

"Would you like some bread? It's rock-hard, but it'll still fill you," said Brannen, lowering their voice.

"Oh--no, thank you," Clarity replied. She went back to her braiding. Hopefully they would see that she was busy and move on- others were awake in the camp. Surely Brannen could find something more useful to do.

They gave an elegant shrug and unwrapped a piece of bread. Then they began to dismantle it slowly, giving no indication of wanting to leave. "Why do you three keep so quiet?" They asked. "There are plenty of people your age here. Why not join them?"

Clarity glanced sidelong at her older companion. "That's not your business," she said.

Brannen sighed. "I suppose not," they conceded. "But it worries Char. She thinks you three are too morose."

"Char--do you mean the Sergeant?" asked Clarity, taken aback. "It's not as if she knows us. We've hardly spoken."

"She's observant."