When Given a Lemon

Part 2

"Why do we need to be quiet when we are literally surrounded by empty wilderness–" a scarred and ominous face appeared before me and I suddenly found myself ass laid out in a mud puddle. I didn't even see him move!!? Belatedly, my body alerts me of the pain from the impact. It was strange how it lagged behind the action, like a roll of thunder chasing a lightning strike.

Everyone kept marching ahead, careful to keep their eyes forward while tlhe old man had the heel of his boot on my shoulder to keep me from rising. I squirm because the murky water is freezing! …and smells suspiciously of horse manure.

Gross!

I noticed it as soon as I inhaled deeply to speak but was yanked back to my feet before an audible sound could escape me.

"Carry this pack." He demanded, supplying a heavy looking bag that I swear they conjured out of nowhere! I already have my own heavy pack to heft! What does he think I am? He doesn't let me ask, instead dropping the load on top of my rucksack for me to awkwardly try to catch. He's gone before I even have a hold on it and I have to sprint to catch up with everyone once I get my added burden situated.

Worst of all, I wasn't even the one that argued!

This whole march is going to be miserable, I just know it!

The grizzled old warrior was already back up toward the front. I hope to never come face to face with him again! One time is already too much! He looked like he had been thrown into a meat grinder and somehow survived. His whole body was covered from toe to tip in scars. Anywhere he had exposed skin sported healed slash marks, old stitches, and raised, discolored patches. It amounted to most of him since he was only wearing a leather vest, open chested, and a short warskirt above long boots. The exposed parts of his thighs looked like knitted and fire baked bread for fuck's sake!

If we are heading out to wherever he had just come from I’m deserting!

He didn't let us stop for a rest even once and I know I'm not the only one with burning thighs and blister covered toes. This is too much! He's taking his miserable looking existence out on us! And it's obvious that he is because back at the camp all we ever do is march march march so it's not like our bodies aren't attuned to the work! But he's pushing us way too far and far too fast!

I glance over at Mirth who is breathing heavily but keeping quiet. It's obvious that she is struggling but afraid to speak up because the guy's a ruthless badger!

"This inhuman bastard is going to run us into the ground if he keeps this up!" I whisper to her.

Of course at that very moment a lieutenant pops up out of nowhere and yells at me to shut up. Naturally the encounter isn't missed by the old man either.

Fucking great.

He doesn't hesitate to head over and pull both Mirth and I out of formation.

"He said you're a ruthless badger running them into the ground" the lieutenant provides. Very unnecessarily! I know this isn't going to end well, and now I've dragged Mirth into it too! Feeling too guilty to look up at her I keep my eyes on my muddy boots, which was the wrong move because I instantly get reprimanded for not standing to proper attention!

Grandpa dumps more weight on us both before motioning Mirth to struggle ahead while holding me back. Turning back to me he sneers and it's one of the scariest things I've seen in a while.

Possibly ever.

He will definitely be visiting my nightmares tonight!

"I won't stand for your insubordination." He speaks quietly but with enough force that I don't dare to talk back. He pulls something out of his pocket. An old sock or glove or something like that and stoops to swirl it around inside a puddle a few times before ringing it out. I watch with hesitant curiousity, oblivious to his plans when he wads it up and shoves it into my mouth! I instantly gag!

"Don't you fucking dare even think of spitting that out, private." He leans in to hiss. "You'll learn real quick to do as I say or you'll be in a world of hurt."

Turning on his heels, he walks away and I throw up a little in my mouth but have to choke it back down.

When we finally get to stop for the night I'm dead on my feet. We're at a large, flat pavilion that is little more than four heavy posts holding up a poorly thatched roof over damp sand. None of us are going to sleep well tonight.

I'm forced to wait until everyone else has laid out their bedrolls and gone to assist with whatever needed to be done before I was allowed to drop my load. This also ensured that I would have to sleep on the very edge where the darker patch of earth hints that I won't stay very dry when it rains. I have no delusions; we're still close enough to our old barracks that I can count on the rain picking up again at any moment.

Before we could sup, we were called out to a small field with a natural stone platform for the officers to stand on so they could give us more details about where we would be stationed. There are far too many of us packed into this tiny area. I had to put both my arms on the soldiers in front of me to provide enough space for me to stand without getting smashed into them.

Because we had just finished our long march and were now packed tightly, it's hot and sweaty which only makes things more miserable when we are dismissed because then we are cold and chilled in the damp air. I couldn’t help but think it was done on purpose. I almost said so but the thought of that mud coated gag kept my lips sealed!

The gnarled old man was already speaking when we had finally all got into position and his words didn’t carry very far. If it were anyone else, I'd have to deal with too many people trying to relay what was spoken, only adding to the cacophony and reducing the chance of any of us coming out of here really having any idea of what the hell was going on. But since everyone had seen what happened to me, the place was eerily quiet.

By the end of it, I had gathered that he looked like a human scratching post because he had survived a skirmish or multiple skirmishes against creatures that looked like stone-men held together by tree roots and three-foot tall ‘batmen’ with razor sharp wingtips and poker tails that they liked to whip about. He talked about creatures that pounced on their troop while they were traversing some boggy landscape full of drowning pools that they would drag soldiers into and when they were asleep in their camps their tents would be lit on fire. He stressed that our troop, as it currently was, wouldn't last a week out in the field without his guidance. I felt like each thing he said was worse than the last and dreaded being led out to such a place as a reinforcement. I can’t even bloody swim!

Then he said something about climbing and "cold, thin air up on the heights" but I didn't catch enough of it to really have a sound idea of what our orders truly are or if he is only telling more of his war stories right now. When he finally finished I wished I could teleport home into my bed.

After we ate soggy mush we were dismissed for the night and sent to our bedrolls to rest up before continuing our sojourn first thing in the morning, not that I expected to sleep that night.

Other than those two days of training pushed on me before I had gone to the barracks, I hadn't been asked to do anything more than march and guard. Before then my life had been exceptionally ordinary with small town worries and simple wants and needs keeping me happy.

I had lived with my grandmother there for at least half of my childhood since my parents had long ago passed away during a fever epidemic.

My old Nan looked deceptively young for her age and was often mistaken as my actual mother, which I didn't mind. If I had lost my parents a little younger, I probably would have called her mother too but I had been eleven when they passed. An ominous age since it was the number of demons that presided in our world, or so the legends told. My Nan had loved telling those stories, along with all sorts of other fables about mythical creatures that were exciting to hear about until learning they might actually exist.