Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 22

The next day I stumbled out of bed with a massive headache. The weeping man in the cot beside me was, for once, silent. He was breathing deep and even, and I hoped the troubled man had finally found some much needed sleep.

I stepped outside of the small shack and into the morning air, blinking at all the sunlight. People scurried about—a great many unfamiliar people. The villages had returned, then. They bustled about in surprisingly high spirits, considering the manner of evil they’d only narrowly avoided. But I suppose the threat of a horrible death can make even the chores of everyday life seem downright pleasant. 

I stopped a passing youth with a basket on her hip, a lass about my own age. She gave me a sunny smile as I hailed her. 

“Do you know where the other soldiers are?” I asked, flashing a smile right back.

“Over there,” she said, jerking his head. “Where…where all the blood and stuff was.” She shuddered.

“Thanks.”

“No...no, it’s you who should be thanked. All you soldiers. You saved our village from those horrible...” She tapered off, then rallied her nerve and continued. “My name’s Missy. Anything you need, you just ask. We’re all eager to help. You’re heroes, far as we’re concerned.”

Silver tongued devil that I was, I had nothing to respond to that with but a quick blush as I turned away to find my fellows.

Where all the blood had been indeed. I had no trouble remembering that sad spot. I found Jeer smack in the center of the ritual site, or the middle of the former battlefield, if you’d rather. He was sitting on the overturned altar—which had now resumed its prior, far less terrifying role as a simple watering trough. 

He glanced up as I approached, then wracked a meaty fist against the side of the trough. “Have to burn this now. Shame, too. Nice trough. Good craftsmanship, decent wood.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood, walked over to me and clapped me on the back. “Good to see you on your feet, recruit.”

“You too, sir.”

“What, me? It’ll take more than a few screaming savages to put me off my stride.” He grinned. “Won’t find yourself a new sergeant that easy.”

I matched his grin. Jeer seemed to think we recruits were only ever just a few minutes away from the world’s tiniest coup, that we underlings would just pounce on any old excuse to get rid of him. As though we could if we wanted to. As though we didn’t know we had the best sergeant in the whole regiment.

The grin slid from Jeer’s face, and he cast a quick glance around the little clearing in which we stood, checking for anyone in easy hearing distance. No one was.

“Look. Galore told me about your little…problem. Don’t worry ‘bout old sergeant Jeer babbling your secrets. I keep a tight lip, and I don’t much care for the higher ranks butting in on squad business, anyway. So long as their orders get carried out, what business is it of theirs how we damn well choose to do it?” He shrugged. “Not like I have any damn idea what I saw, anyway. You got us out of a messy situation, that’s about the long and short of it. You do what Galore told you, lad. I’ll back you to the letter. And because I’m in a downright festive mood this morning,” he said, a sudden scowl making him look positively unfestive, “I’ll even go so far as to forgetful on the subject of orders given and orders disobeyed. On account of me getting old and forgetful, if you like.”

Clearly he meant the order he'd given before the battle, the order to watch and report back to the fort if things went sour. The one I’d ignored without much thought at all when things started looking iffy.