The narrative of Major Alexander Cutler begins in the same manner as that of Lucius Atratus. The Republican officer of thirty-three years was riding on an army horse down a well-traveled road toward his home. The bright blue canvas above the scene had been marked tastefully by a brush dipped in the finest white paint, and the warm sun beat gently but perceptibly on the major’s back. The road Alex travelled followed a canal, and from the water, frogs could be heard croaking. Behind him, there was a gentle splashing coming from a barge. Across the canal was the towpath, and from this emanated the rhythmic clopping of mule hooves.
There were trees sparsely but reliably distributed all around the area. All were green; Fareland, in the heart of the Republic’s agricultural region, was far enough south that trees rarely lost their leaves in the winter. All sorts of songbirds were participating in the chorus that Alex had known since his earliest childhood but that was different every time he heard it.
Today was the date of the Spring Festival, a celebration surpassed by the Winter and Summer Festivals, but prominent nonetheless. It was traditionally spent with the family, and because he hadn’t been stationed far abroad, the major had been able to obtain liberty for sixty hours. As soon as that time was up, he’d have to be present at the military base in Corton, a port city on the tip of the Saragian peninsula in the south, or else he’d be labeled a deserter. Such were the terms of his agreement. From Corton, he’d be stuck aboard a navy ship and sent to his new post in the southern Monarchy.
Cutler cursed the war. Relations between the Republic and Monarchy were always tense, but war never got anything done. This most recent conflict had been inspired partially by a third party, Belgentium, positioned precariously between the two opposing powers, north of the Neirh River, but south of the Anaplian Mountains. Belgentium clung to its independence largely out of nationalistic pride, but its location had written a bloody history for the small country; three centuries ago, for instance, the Republic had invaded the Monarchy, moving a large portion of its troops through Belgentium. When the Belgentinians had opposed the invasion, they’d been massacred. Both superpowers competed for influence in this country, but neither had a reason to invade. An attack would damage Belgentium’s economy, and this economy’s benefited the nearby economies in both the Republic and the Monarchy. Beyond this, an attack on Belgentium would certainly arouse the anger of the other superpower and lead to a bloodier, more undesirable war.
Because both countries for economic and political influence in Belgentium, this nation possessed the generally unenviable power of angering either superstate at will by favoring the other. Recently, the Monarchy had decided to pay a higher tribute and to lower tariffs, thus encouraging Belgentium to conduct more trade with the Monarchy, and to adjust its constitution to be a little less democratic. The Republic had responded by demanding that its small neighbor on the Saragian Peninsula, Arguanica, and another country to the south of Belgentium, Straulstvania, both of which were more sympathetic to the Republic, to stop trading with the Monarchy. The inclusion of Arguanica was especially significant, since it possessed, by international treaty, the sole fishing rights to an especially productive stretch of water between the Rhodynene Archipelago and the Saragian Peninsula in the Ribecarian Gulf. A cessation of trade with Arguanica meant that it would be impossible for the Monarchy to purchase a number of fish species considered delicacies without breaking a treaty it had previously supported, and almost all species still available were paired with much higher prices. Unfortunately, the Monarchy did choose to break the treaty, and this led to the puny Arguanican navy attacking Monarchy ships. When the Monarchy responded, so did the Republic, taking the Arguanican side, of course. Next had come the invasion of the southern Monarchy, coordinated with a smaller attack in the north that was calculated to split Monarchy defenses. No one seemed to know exactly what the goal of the war was; it certainly wasn’t conquest. The best guess was to restore fishing rights to the Arguanicans, but they had since dropped out of the fighting. This had led many soldiers to begin referring to the conflict as the “Fish War”.
Alex was within sight of his home after only half an hour of riding. He, like Lucius, lived on a farm, and the two were of very comparable size, but while Lucius’s was large for its district, Alex’s was small, and while Lucius’s family was one of the only few that did not raise horses, Alex’s was one of the few that did.
The first sight of home was Cutler’s small, fair-haired daughter Emily sitting atop the pasture fence near the road, kicking her legs forward and backward, and holding an early-seeding dandelion in her hand, blowing a stream of parachutes into the free and gentle breeze. As soon as she spotted her father, she hopped off the fence and ran toward him, her arms extended, and her mouth emitting exclamations of joy.
“Dad!” the ten-year old yelled. “You’re back! Mom’s got the food cooking already, and she said we could eat as soon as you got home!”
Alexander smiled, bent over, and extended a hand toward his daughter. She took it, and was lifted up onto the horse with a “Whee!”
As the two were riding back to the house, Emily asked the question always asked of her father when he returned from military activity: “How many people did you save?”
Of course the answer was unknowable, but Alex was required to fabricate something in order to stifle the persistent questioning. In the past seven months, something like five thousand wounded had passed through the field hospital of which he’d been given command. Eight hundred had perished, at least three thousand hadn’t been fatally wounded anyway, and of the remaining thousand or so, his leadership had only played even a peripheral role in perhaps half the cases, so five hundred was the number given to his daughter.
“Five hundred! You saved five hundred lives! I can’t wait to tell Mom and Matt!” Matthew was the name of her younger brother, three years her junior.
Alex smiled and nodded in assent. “And is Uncle Geoffrey’s family coming over?”
“Uh huh! They’ll be here in an hour or so.” Geoffrey Cutler was Alexander’s younger brother, only one year younger than the major. Alex’s wife, Olivia, had a sister, but she lived too far away to make the trip of the Spring Festival.
“If they’re coming, I’m surprised we’ll be allowed to eat before they arrive.”
“Well, we’re allowed to eat snacks like fried dough poppers, but we can’t eat any of the lamb.”
“I think that means it’ll be mostly you and Matthew eating, then.”
“More for us!”
By this time, the pair were flanked by the family’s three dogs, who comprised a loyal Liethenian Hound, a scent hound, and two excitable Eslinian Shepherds. They had probably heard the sounds of Emily’s enthusiasm and come to join in whatever fun there was. All three were approximately the same size, but the Eslinian Shepherds had more muscular frames. Alex especially prized the Liethenian Hound; Liethenia, the smallest country on the continent, was well known for its rugged alpine terrain, its strong beer, and its high-quality hunting dogs.
For the rest of the ride back along the road and then down the driveway, Emily amused herself by throwing rocks she seemed to have previously deposited in her pockets for the dogs to chase.
As soon as Alex and Emily had entered the house, Emily ran through the halls proclaiming her father’s return. Matthew Cutler and Olivia Lefevre were not slow in greeting him, and the dogs, always vaguely away of the moods of their masters, recognized the excitement of the moment and joined in by running to and fro and barking.
“Geoffrey’s sent a message that he’ll be here at three, in a little less than an hour, but the meal is ready now, so if you’re hungry after your trip, you may have a little to eat,” Olivia offered Alex after a prolonged embrace.
“Thank you, but I’d rather wait.” Emily looked disappointed. “Emily if you’re hungry, you may eat a little. The same goes for you, Matt. Just don’t eat too much.” The pair immediately ran toward the dining room.
Olivia looked at her husband. “How have things been?”
Upon the departure of his children, the major’s visage had assumed an expression of melancholy. He sighed. “You’ve read the letters.”
She nodded. “But I want to hear you.”
“Sometimes I feel like the battle I fight is the most hopeless. On the field, the soldiers have the hope that they won’t be shot; that the battle will be won without their sacrifice. But once into the field hospital, it’s too late, and the ones we save still often have to live the rest of their lives without an arm or leg.”
His wife put her arm around him. “Alex, you can’t see the hope in such a situation because you are the hope. Without people like you, things would be much more grim.”
He sighed again and nodded.
“You know you can’t be so despondent when your brother arrives.”
Alex looked up. “Of course not, but it was you who broached the subject.”
“You’re right, because it cannot be allowed to fester, but I only say we must forsake it in half an hour. Let us sit down.”
They did, on a couch in the family room, and Olivia continued. “What has it been like? Tell me what you’ve seen. I’ve got your letters in a drawer here.”
She moved to extract them as Alex opened his mouth, but they were interrupted by Matthew, who ran into the room bearing a sandwich Olivia had made earlier for him as a snack, and which he’d apparently neglected to eat.
“Hello, Matt,” he was greeted.
“Hello, Father.” He removed the top piece of bread from his sandwich, picked up a slice of cheese, and held it out to his father. It had holes of varying sizes in it.
“This is Swiss cheese, right?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it made? Cheese is named for where it’s made, right?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t know where it’s made, to be honest. Swissland, I guess.”
“But where is Swissland? Is that where the Swiss live?”
“Well, I’ve never heard of the Swiss, but I guess that’s right.”
“Why haven’t you heard of them? Don’t they make you know geography for the army?”
“Yes, but we don’t learn all the little provinces. That’s probably somewhere on the other side of the continent.”
“But the state doesn’t let us import much from the Monarchy.”
“It might not be in the Monarchy; it could be in Anion. I don’t know their geography terribly well. It’s probably full of odd people who go around wearing silly pants and singing on mountains.”
“May I go into your study, please?”
“To look at the globe I keep there?”
“Yes.”
Alexander smiled. “As long as you don’t take that sandwich with you.”
Matthew left. Cutler’s mood had been improved by his son’s curiosity, and he spent the remaining time before his brother’s arrival helping his wife ensure that everything had been properly prepared.
Geoffrey Cutler, his wife Morgan Atchiwood, and son Logan Cutler arrived only a few minutes after the anticipated time, and the traditional feast began immediately. The meal was an opportunity for parts of the family separated by distance to relate the events of their lives and to draw closer on a seasonal basis. Geoffrey was the more ambitious of the brothers, and a successful entrepreneur. He’d begun in a large flour mill, worked his way upward, and then started his own. Despite initial problems, his business had eventually become lucrative, and his determination to be successful, vague though the goal was, incited him to begin investing in other areas. His most recent financial conquests were his contribution to the conversation.
Morgan did not work, and so discussed the developments in the neighborhood of their dwelling. Olivia was a veterinarian – she and Alex had met in college – and spoke some of her occupation, her coworkers, and outstanding cases. Alex mentioned the foreign locations to which he’d been sent and related a few anecdotes from life in various army camps, but no more. The children all made comments here or there on each subject, and often digressed and began chatting among themselves.
After the meal, the group ventured into a nearby town, where there were public festivities. These included games, free food, music, and something of a parade. The hours passed quickly, and as the sun was just beginning its last decent, the family returned home.
It was something of a ritual for Alex to add to a painting of his every time he returned home, and this day was not an exception. The activity always took place at sunset, so once he’d reentered his house, he retrieved his materials from his study and carried them out to some woods behind the house, on the edge of the property. Once under the trees, a creek was about a four minute walk away. It was some two meters wide, and the artist situated himself on a bend in it. The banks and some parts of the stream itself were strewn with rocks. Although the region in which Cutler lived was, while agricultural, moderately developed, the nature of this spot was quite the opposite; it seemed an example of untouched serenity transcending humanity itself. The land was mostly flat in the region, but the opposite bank of the stream was next to a rare hill. The trees were dense enough to convey a feeling of quiet and somehow engaging seclusion, but fell short of being intimidating. The climate dictated that most of the trees be deciduous, but there were a few notable exceptions in medium and large-sized pines.
Alex set his easel up quickly and began painting. After a number of minutes, Geoffrey arrived by his side. He was quite for a few moments, and then spoke.
“When I look at the painting, I feel as though I can hear the water chafing in its nearly imperceptible, fluid sort of way on the rocks, and the happy chorus of the birds.”
Alex cast a bemused smile at his brother. “That’s because you can hear those things. It would be less impressive outside of this environment.”
“I disagree! Nature is so splendorous that even a painter as talented as you cannot capture it perfectly, and when your painting is juxtaposed with it, your portrayal of the scene, excellent as it is, is ultimately the inferior. But your painting has a magical quality to it, and if removed from the scene, its vividness would still inspire in the viewer’s imagination the qualities of the forest that earthy pigments alone cannot capture.”
Alex only shrugged. He continued painting in silence for a while, but then commented, “I forsake a degree modesty with this thought, but I think that, if there is a magic to my painting, it is a sort of compensation for my own deficiency. Did you know that the army was very close to turning me down when I applied to be a medic?”
“I didn’t.”
“My magic aptitude test scores were too low. They said I wouldn’t be much use if I struggled with basic healing spells. It took a letter from the dean of medicine at Rordwell to convince them. I was just shy of the top of my class at the most prestigious medical school in the Republic, and my magic scores were so low, the army almost didn’t accept me!” He shrugged. “But that doesn’t matter, really, since I was accepted. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d never let it go.”
Geoffrey smiled. “And I won’t.” He held out his hand, and a small flame appeared. He’s used this gesture to taunt his brother beginning when they’d been very young. Alex had always been unable to execute even so modest a spell, but since they’d gained maturity, it had become more of a joke.
Most of an hour had passed before Alex returned to the house. His painting was progressing well, and he’d been caught up in the work. As he passed through one of the pastures, he noticed his children and nephew playing a game.
“Don’t be out in the dark too late!” he called to them.
Emily responded. “Mother said we could stay out another hour and a half!”
“Then it’ll be ninety minutes and no more! I’ll be waiting for you.”
In truth, he had little problem with them staying out a little later, and was generally more lenient than his wife, but all three of the children were too young to be in the habit of returning whenever and of their own accord, so some time had to be set.
The remainder of the evening was spent pleasantly, but by nine o’clock the next morning, Alex was leaving to catch a train south. From what he understood of his superiors’ plans for him, he’d be going to inspect the health conditions at a government-sanctioned military magic research laboratory. The laboratory was situated on the largest island in the Ribecarian Gulf, and it lay between approximately Corton and the Monarchy coast. The inspection would take most of a day, but afterwards, he’d continue on to the front, where he’d be placed in charge of a field hospital. This was his customary charge. Although his lack of magical ability had at first been an obstacle for Alex in the army, he had compensated not only with brilliance for anatomy, human biology, and surgical procedures, but for logistics as well, and this latter skill had suited him excellently to a command position, facilitating his rise to the rank of major.
Once aboard, Cutler stared quietly out the window of the train at the land flowing by like a river of green. With every turn of the wheels, he was less a father and more an officer. He closed his eyes and allowed memories to resurge. The last time he’d gone down to the peninsula, it had been on a relief mission two years ago. There had been uncontrollable flooding. It wasn’t as bad as the battlefield, but the casualties had been civilians. Not that civilian lives were worth any more than the lives of soldiers, he thought to himself.
Alex reopened his eyes and looked again out the window. Farms were still passing, but ever minute there were fewer crops and more cattle. In the warmer south, beef was the chief export. The only crops grown to any degree were corn and potatoes, and these weren’t exported. In times past, the ranchers the upper Saragian Peninsula would gather their livestock and herd north to be slaughtered in Nethgo City, but since coal-powered steam engines had been installed in trains, this was less tolerated by the plantation owners by whose land they passed, and whose crops were damaged almost every year by the passing cattle. The first trains had been powered solely by magic propulsion, which was not terribly efficient, and which limited the frequency with which any section of rail could be used a day, since magic had to be given time to recharge in an area. Steam powered trains were faster. They could be powered by either magic or coal. When powered by magic, they were more efficient. When powered by coal, they were more expensive, but trains could use any given section of rail as frequently as was required in any given day. Since about forty years ago, all beef had been shipped rather than herded north. It was more expensive for the ranchers, but it also saved time, so they hadn’t protested much.
Hours passed, meals were served, rivers were crossed, and the terrain grew more brown. The train finally arrived at the Redwater Mountains, so named for the iron-rich dust that was present in most of the streams of the area. The range was high enough for most of its peaks to be snow-covered. Some of the mountains bore forests, but not all of them, and some were sheer sheets of rock. At this landmark, the train turned eastward and followed the coast of the Meridial Ocean. The coast was sometimes smooth and sandy, and sometimes harsh and rocky, but the ocean itself was uniformly tempestuous. There was no pause in the crash of great waves, just as, so far as anyone knew, there was no end to the ocean itself until it stretched around the globe, froze, and became the Northern Icecap. A few islands were known, and one voyage of exploration had discovered a small, hot, and dry subcontinent south of the equator, but the coast of this was so barren as not to permit even the faintest hope of colonization.
At length, the train turned north, and finally arrived at Corton, where Alex disembarked. Corton was a port city of modest size, but, for its size, it was bustling enough. Major Cutler made his way to the military office in the city – there was one in most cities to house the officer overseeing military operations in or passing through the city – where he had been instructed to meet Brigadier General Walters. In fact, he only met with the general’s secretary, from whom he received the name of the ship he was to board. Not having any business to conduct ashore, he boarded the Republican People’s Ship Oiseau.
The day was balmy and the streets of the city loud. Alex watched the comings, goings, and conversations of those on the docks from the bow of the ship. The ship wouldn’t depart until that night, giving all those required to be aboard as much time as possible to board, so much time was spent reading. Alex’s rank was high enough and the ship’s passengers few enough that he was allowed to spend as much time on the deck as he wished, and it was there that he read stories of the Arctic by Jack Fulstead, who shared his surname with the capital of the Republic.
It was an hour after sundown that the RPS Oisau finally left its moorings and began slowly across the Corton Harbor to the music of George Lock’s “The Defense of the Neirh” the national anthem. For this, all military personnel stood on deck and saluted. The music itself came from shore, but was quite audible. After the anthem, most of the crew and passengers went back below deck. Alex remained next to the ship’s railing, looking out over the water and taking in the majesty of the scene. The details of the place were not lost on the appreciative painter.
The ship rocked lightly up and down, and Alex swayed both with the ocean and the breeze, as the latter tamely tousled his dark brown hair and flapped his overcoat. The almost imperceptible sounds of conversation from the shore persisted, travelling quickly over the harbor, and blending together into a sort of warm, human hum. The cool, crisp, and salty night air, so different from the balminess of the day, inundated his nostrils.
Most spectacular of all was the sparkle of the rising moon’s light on the gently but quickly waving surface of the water, a constantly moving, silver, glimmering road stretched out before him, leading him toward his destiny.
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