Chapter IV

            Alex roused himself early and made his way onto the deck.  Health inspections could be tedious, but this represented Alex’s last break before yet another field hospital.  He didn’t hate his occupation, he kept reminding himself.  He hated the gore and the death and the moaning of his compatriots.  Anyone would hate that.  He didn’t hate his occupation.  His occupation was helping, and he was good at it.  The hospitals he ran were some of the most efficient, and he was one of the Republican military’s most valued anatomists.

            It was a dark morning, Cutler noted.  Somewhere across the ship a sailor was playing a guitar and singing an ancient Saragian folk tune in a dialect thick with euphonic rhymes and almost impossible to understand.  The major closed his eyes, took in the sounds of the steady melody, and wondered about the subject of the lyrics.  Alex didn’t know much about music, but he could tell that they key was minor.  A song about homesickness or a forsaken love would be fitting.  He swung his foot to the rhythm.  He’d considered buying Emily a guitar as a gift for Spring Festival, but hadn’t had the opportunity.  Spring Festival wasn’t traditionally a gift-giving holiday, but on occasion, gifts were exchanged anyway.

            The doctor disembarked at six hundred hours after eating a small breakfast of potato slices.  As he was rowed toward the shore in one of the ship’s boats, he noted how invigorating the fresh air of the island felt.  He was greeted at the dock by an officer wearing a captain’s bars.  She saluted.  “Major Cutler, I am Captain Solovna.  I’ll be guiding you on your tour of the laboratories.”  She led him to a waiting carriage, which carried both of them down a short road to the research buildings.

            The complex was neither strikingly large nor small.  There were only five buildings, comprising a central office, the main research building, a secondary research building, a warehouse for various supplies, and a hospital in case of an accident which, Cutler was informed, had never to date occurred.  The buildings were just far enough inland that they were out of sight of the shore, and were located at the base of something of a large hill.  To the right, a path stretched around the hill toward an unseen destination.

            Cutler was first led into the office, where he was introduced to Major General Joseph Lemenge, the commander of the research facility and an accomplished wizard himself.  The general was a tall man, just short of middle age, with a darkly intelligent demeanor.  The time he spent with Lemenge was short, but the general left a lasting impression of uneasiness.  After the commander, Alex was introduced other officers of varying importance.  After these formalities, he was lead to the first of the research buildings.

            The work that took place on this island was not highly publicized, but Alex understood one of its chief functions to be the development of defenses to a magically-engineered plague.  This had become a terrifying possibility in the past few years with significant advancements in the understanding of human physiology and the functioning of enchantments on a microscopic level.  Other wizards, most unsettlingly primarily in the Monarchy, had found evidence that the conversion of mass to energy through a magical medium may be possible.  For ages it had been understood that mass could be converted into a bound form of magical energy; this was how shape-shifters were able to gain and lose fractions of their weight.  But the energy thus created could only be used later to recreate the mass that had been destroyed.  If it were possible to unbind this energy and apply it elsewhere, the destruction of matter could yield devastating results, one kilogram being approximately equal to 89.87 quadrillion jolls of energy.

            Alex didn’t understand the functions of the more intricate tools, but he did know about the containment of pathogens.  All agents on which experiments were carried out were supposedly naturally-occurring.  One of the central items of research was the artificially imbuement of these diseases with a marker that could not be destroyed by mutation and that would physically repel them from areas with a certain enchantment.  Since this was more a part of the research than an actual safety measure, airlocks and subatmospheric pressures were also employed, made possible by further use of magic.  Tests were done to ensure that the markers worked correctly and that the airlocks were secure.  After finishing his inspection of one of the last suites in the primary building, Cutler couldn’t resist asking if any militarily feasible plague had been created in the course of the research.

            Solovna shook her head, not in a response to the question, but to the asking of the question itself.  “Such work is prohibited by very serious and rigorously enforced international laws.  Facilities like these exist only to protect Republican citizens in the event that a foreign power breaking those laws.”

            “But has anything been created in the course of research, even if just for testing purposes?”

            “Either way, the answer is confidential.”

            Alex nodded.  The rest of the building was inspected without any conversation between the two beyond the completely necessary.

            When the building was finished the two exited and walked toward the secondary research building.  During the short walk, Cutler thought he heard sounds, and among them voices, coming from somewhere beyond the hill, but he wasn’t sure, and so continued following Captain Solovna.  He also noted that the air seemed less pleasant than the sweet sea air nearer the coast of the island.

            It was in the second building that more tangential projects were undertaken.  Because of this, its uses were generally more varied, and the equipment was less uniform, requiring a more detailed inspection of each piece.  Happily, though, some of it was not meant for experimentation on biological agents at all, and therefore did not require inspection.  While passing one such suite, Alex allowed his gaze to pass over the various scientific instruments therein.  The suite itself, like the others, was kept very tidy, and its furnishings were on the whole boring.  The entire thing was made of a very dense species of wood that was no more difficult to decontaminate than metal, almost as fire-resistant, and which was far cheaper to produce.  The instruments Cutler observed looked more like weapons than scientific tools, but he allowed his ignorance to be the researchers’ excuse.

            The secondary research building’s tour was concluded, and then, too, was that of the supply building.  Even in the supply building, there were areas from which the major’s eyes were kept, it being explained that the supplies there had no pertinence to his inspection.  It felt odd that the inspector was not the one in charge, but such was the way the army operated; Cutler was subject to the authority of General Lemenge, who had apparently deemed only certain areas worth inspecting.

            The hospital was, as expected, the easiest building to examine.  The doctor looked with envy upon the unused surgical implements.  It was easy, at least, to determine that all met the regulations.  Once the inspections were finished, Alex was led back to the offices, where he filled out some necessary paperwork and met again with Lemenge.

            When he left the office, still with Captain Solovna, who was to escort him back to the coast, Alex noticed footprints along the path leading behind the hill.  He was forced to ask his guide, “Captain, do people frequent the other area of the island, where the prison camp used to be?

            She turned and regarded him, somewhat severely, but didn’t answer.  Then, “That area was decommissioned years ago.”

            “Yes, but if people still frequent it, I should inspect it as well, especially given its former nature.”

            “It isn’t part of the inspection.  Don’t waste your time.”

            “On the contrary, my mandate is to inspect all facilities on the island.  The general’s power of exclusion is not unlimited, despite appearances.”

            Solovna shook her head.  “Follow me.  Your boat will be waiting.”

            Cutler felt that he was far more intimidated by Solovna than he should have been by a subordinate officer.  Yet, he did feel more intimidated by General Lemenge.  It wouldn’t be to the general that he would press his case.  All things considered, it must have been the accumulated, and justified, impressions of secrecy that Alex felt that made him quiet his steps.

            There was something distinctly wrong on the island.  Alex had a heavy feeling of foreboding, and he knew that if he boarded the boat, he would be taken away from it, back to the familiar.  But he couldn’t bring himself to shrug off the impulse that pressed itself upon him more and more like a duty.

            Cutler had lightened his footsteps to the point that they would not be missed by Solovna were they to disappear.  And they did.

            As the distance between the captain and major grew, Alex quickened his pace, and then began to run.  He didn’t know how he’d explain himself if he found nothing, but he also knew he wouldn’t find nothing.  Suddenly, he was very grateful for the sidearm that Republican officers wore at almost all times.

            Doing his best to stay out of the view of the windows of the offices, Alex jogged down the path that led beyond the hill.  When he emerged from behind the rise, he stopped in his tracks.  But only for a second.

            A soberingly cold wind struck the major’s face, bent the grass, and shook the leaves of a few distant trees.  He hadn’t noticed how dark the sky was.  The ominousness of the weather struck him all the more forcefully in light of what stood before him.

            There lay another complex, certainly not deserted, of buildings much more sinister in appearance.  There were watch towers, what he knew to be dungeons, a central, oddly shaped building, and another, probably for administrative purposes.

            A baritone horn was being played to announce the time – it was eighteen hundred hours.  This was not a customary practice in the Republican military, and only done when the time was of some significance to the schedule.

            It clearly was significant, because prisoners in shackles were being shepherded by guards to and from the central building.  Alex noticed that these groups almost never traveled in a straight path from the dungeon to the building; the guards kept the groups of prisoners separate, as if afraid that, if allowed too close together, they would rise up against their captors.  Alex also noticed the wands of an apparently high quality carried by all the guards.

            This whole installation was illegal.  It wasn’t supposed to exist, and the conditions of imprisonment were fairly obviously in violation of international treaties.  The major was morally outraged that the country he so dutifully served could perpetrate such a crime.

            But then he remembered that the country did not commit this crime.  People did.  Lemenge did.  Something had to be done.  Cutler unholstered his pistol and advanced unthinkingly toward the nearest group.  The guard was following three prisoners.  The prisoners were forced to walk in front for safety, no doubt.  The whole progression was outside the square of dungeons, and just passing through a small section of out view of the guard towers.

            Just as Cutler found himself upon the guard, it was as if he regained consciousness.  He didn’t remember approaching the group, and certainly didn’t know what he was about to do.

            With no other option, the major struck the guard over the head with his pistol.  The thud caused the prisoners to turn.  For a moment, the doctor and the men, all of the prisoners being of poor health, stared at each other.  Neither party knew what to make of the other.  Finally, Alex articulated, “Come.”

            Glancing wildly around, he set off away from the complex on a course that appeared to avoid the line of sight of any watchtowers.  The prisoners hesitated but followed.  One of the foremost, a stout young man of around twenty three years, walked forward next to Cutler and addressed the liberator with a southern Monarchy accent.

            “Do you have a means of removing our chains?”

            “No.”

            “Where are we going?”

             After a pause, “Fulstead.”

            “How?”

            “Over the Gulf, across Axoria, around the Myrabion Mountains, through Straultsvania, and either up the Neirh along or across the Eastern Republican countryside.”

            “Let’s start with the first part.  How are we getting off this island?  Don’t you have a boat?  Who are you?”

            “I don’t have a boat.  It’s all a little too difficult to explain now, but I was planning on stealing one.  I’m sure there’s a dock on the northwestern side of the island with a few.”

            “I’m not so sure, but we obviously don’t have a choice.  Now tell us who you are.”

            Before Cutler could explain his identity, another prisoner, younger-looking, with a pale complexion and dark black hair approached the front of the progression and began to speak.  “If you will permit it, since I know now where you are going, I will split away from you and rejoin you at the dock on the northern shore.  I assure you, an alarm will not be raised on the account of my actions.  I know how I can free us of these chains and lend credence to the story I’m sure you intend us to relate before the High Court in Fulstead.”  He spoke with an accent alien to Alex, and his rendering of the major’s dialect was imperfect so that Cutler was unable to understand parts of the speech.  Alex guessed that he was from somewhere in the isolated north of the Monarchy.

            “If you are confident in your mission, then fine, but if you know where the dock is, perhaps you should guide us.”

            The young northerner shook his head.  “I only think I know where it is.  My guidance would be of little advantage.  Especially because I can accomplish more by fulfilling these different tasks.”

            Alex shrugged, and the youth departed.  Away from the prison area, there was a fair amount of woods – at least a sufficient amount of cover.  Luckily, the band had begun its flight near the perimeter, and the young prisoner quickly disappeared into the foliage, newly dense with the infant leaves of spring.  The rest of the group continued forward, through the trees, as if without regard for its diverging member.  The island was between storms as it were, and as the sun was setting, its golden rays broke through the dissipating clouds, even as more advanced from the east, to illuminate the scene and turn lingering droplets of water on the plants into beads of molten gold.  It was as if nature were encouraging the men to celebrate their newly regained freedom, or, more sinisterly, to forget that so many still lacked theirs.

            As they ran onward, Alex inquired to the prisoner with whom he had spoken earlier about the nature of the prison.

            “Why are you being kept here?  Your incarceration is illegal, even if you have done some wrong; this prison isn’t recognized by the Republic.  So probably you have not done anything wrong.”

            “We are mages.”

            Alex nodded.  “I may have surmised as much.”

            The land was sloping down, and the fugitives ran at an increased pace.  By this time, their absence was sure to have been noticed.

            “If mages, what has kept you from rising up and freeing yourselves?  Your weapons cannot truly be taken from you.”

            “Most of us do require wands and staffs for powerful spells.  These were taken.  More powerfully, there is fear.  Sure, most of us could manage to kill a guard, or even two.  But it would be impossible to escape.  The perpetrator would face immediate death.  In fact, that boy whom you allowed to run off on his own sports a nasty wound from a guard’s wand, received after killing one.  They would have executed him in front of us very gruesomely if you had not arrived.”  Alex raised his eyebrows at this.  “It makes me wonder where he’s going,” the former prisoner concluded.

            Alex led on in silence.  Though he was unsurprised, it was to his chagrin that he heard faint shouts from behind, forcing the group toward the beach ever faster.  But once there, the garrison that was almost certainly at the dock would have to be evaded or incapacitated.  As he continued through the trees in the glowing evening light, Major Cutler had more and more impression that he had begun a nightmare for himself, even as the men whom he’d freed had more and more the impression that one was ending.

            The major was unable to gauge how much time had passed when the shore came into view; excitement always tended to distort his perception of time.  He could indeed make out a small dock, where boats from ships may have unloaded supplies, or from which fishing boats may have once set sail before the island had been procured by the Republic for its current use.  In either case, the underwater topology of the area wouldn’t permit a larger vessel drawing very near.

            Apparently, the dock was now used for patrol boats; civilian crafts had to be kept from the area somehow.  With any manner of providence, this extra bit of security that would otherwise be an obstacle would in fact offer an escape.

            There was room for three boats at the dock.  Only one was present.  On it were three workers, apparently preparing it for a patrol.  The major judged that it would be most advantageous to take action before the workers were alerted by the approaching shouts of the pursuers.  He thought quickly to devise a way to incapacitate those between him and his escape.

            Cutler’s thoughts were interrupted by two shots in quick succession, and then a third after a short delay.  Startled, Alex’s gaze shot to his left.  There stood the prisoner who had left the group, free of his chains, clutching a gun the Republican major identified as one of the finer firearms issued to soldiers.  Beside the former prisoner was a man dressed in a guard uniform, likewise holding a weapon to his shoulder.

            Looking back at the boat, Alex saw instead of three dock workers three corpses.  The outright killing of his countrymen made him feel a momentary faintness, but this quickly passed in the urgency of the situation.

            “Onto the boat!”  He ordered immediately, the instinct to command inherent in all senior officers failing to desert the major in this situation of need.  It took only seconds for the prisoners and guard to clamber into the vessel, but in that brief time, soldiers had appeared on the not-too-distant horizon of the hill the group had just run down.  Alex looked at the boat, back to the approaching soldiers, drew his sword, cut the moorings, sheathed his sword, drew his pistol, aimed, and fired hesitantly at the charging Republicans.  The boat began to drift away at once.  “Fool!” someone shouted from the boat.  It was the prisoner who had earlier left the group and who had returned with the Republican guard.  “Lower the lifeboat!” Cutler heard him shout.  Directly there was a splash.  Alex turned to look behind him.

            The former prisoner was swimming toward him.  The boat had drifted a surprising distance away.  The northerner pulled the officer into the water, and they swam toward the lifeboat, nearer than the patrol boat, but still connected to it by a rope.  They had just gotten into it when an atrociously unlucky bullet severed the line connecting them with the others.

            For a moment, the Monarchist turned a silently enraged glare at the major.  “You are an idiot,” was all that could be mustered.  He then seized Cutler’s pistol and began to fire at the Republican guards nearing the shore, saying only the command, “Row.”  This Alex did, pulling with all his might on the oars, trying to steer the small craft toward the patrol boat, from which he could hear more firing.

            Amidst all the gunfire, Alex’s attention was drawn to another sound.  It was a low rumbling, in contrast to the sharp reports of the guns.  Looking to the south, he saw storm clouds advancing with a startling rapidity, appearing almost to be engulfing the island.  Lightning flashed to the right and left.

            The major felt like an embarrassed child before this seventeen-year-old.  The excuse that he was unused to battle, having served mostly in mobile field hospitals, came to his mind, but Alex quickly determined that the voicing of such a stupid thing by a seasoned army officer would only demean him more, and so remained silent on the matter, implying his acknowledgment of the validity of the condemnation.  Instead, he only remarked, “We must regain the boat; that storm would be dangerous for us.”

            The other shook his head.  “The wind will make it impossible.  But let us try all the same.”

            As if conjured by the mage’s words, the lifeboat was buffeted by a blast of salty air that lifted water over the edges and dumped it into the boat.  Bullets from the shore had left holes in the boat’s sides, but luckily none were dangerously close to the waterline.  Still, the storm presented a new danger.

            Seeing that they were finally out of range of the shore, Cutler breathed a sigh of relief.  He was checked by a severe look from his fellow.  “I’m sure the other two boats that are kept at that dock will be coming after us.  And mark, it’ll be after us that they come.”  He looked over Alex’s shoulder.  Alex turned his head and saw with an instant feeling of defeat the distance of the lifeboat from the stolen patrol boat.  The wind had blown it farther away, and those aboard it seemed to be struggling to control the boat’s magic-powered propulsion system.

            Turning back, Alex shrugged.  “The weather may keep them away.”  The mage did not respond.

            “What is your name?” Alex asked presently as he rowed.

            “Lucius Atratus, Lieutenant in the military of Freboria.”

            “Freboria.  I might have guessed.”

            “You are planning on travelling to Fulstead?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why not contact the capital via an aquelecom?”  These were large, immobile devices that were constructed in important places and which could use magic to communicate with other such devices on the same network, used most broadly by militaries and news agencies.

            “In theory, that should be possible, but I fear General Lemenge’s influence to much to try it.  The Tribune of the Military, as the office is called, is obligated to hear the statements of those seeking to reveal corruption or injustice in the military, either in person or over an aquelecom, with the understanding, of course, that liars will be punished heavily for their perjury.  But Lemenge will have all those under his influence deny anyone fitting any of our descriptions deny us an audience with the Tribune and arrest us.  It would be much safer, through longer, to travel to Fulstead in person and avoid any authority lesser than the Tribune herself.”

            Lucius frowned, but then shrugged and nodded.  “You know your own country.  We’ll do as you judge to be prudent.”

            Already darkness was pouring over the sea as the sea was pouring into the small wooden craft.  The boat of the other escapees was lost in the storm and the night.  Alex continued to row, his arms driven on indefatigably by his feeling of desperation of being trapped in a hostile gulf in a now hostile world with just one true ally.  He caught the eye of the other passenger.

            “Who was that guard you brought with you to the boat?” he couldn’t help inquiring, shouting a little to make himself heard.

            Lucius shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Just a guard.  His name was Victor.  I don’t know much else.”

            Cutler frowned.  “Why did he come with you?  Why did you seek him out?”

            “Well, he got my chains off.  And why did he come with me?  I offered him an opportunity to escape.  Well, you did, I suppose.”  Lucius laughed a little.  “Really, not even that.  You didn’t do much.  But I’ll give you credit: you catalyzed the escape.  Anyway, as he described the situation to me, most of the guards are unwilling participants in the crimes of that island, so he welcomed the opportunity.  It was there all along, but sometimes it takes something like the spontaneous courage of your little raid for people to take advantage of their opportunities.”  The mage shrugged again.

            Although he could figure out most of Lucius’s speech, the language barrier was becoming increasingly annoying to Alex.  He decided to ignore the words he didn’t understand.

            “Fear is a stupid emotion,” Lucius continued, reflectively.  “No doubt that’s the only reason why we were pursued, and why our pursuers fired on their fellows, you and Victor.”  He sighed.  “If they had the courage to simply set themselves free, their problems would be unraveled, but human nature does not permit them to see the solution that is so clearly before them.”

            They continued on voicelessly for some time.  Eventually, Lucius motioned to Alex.  “Let me row for a while.”  Alex consented.  As he dropped the oars, he was struck by his accumulated exhaustion, his body no longer able to ignore it out of the necessity of his exertion.

            When he had seated himself again in the stern, the major laid back and looked up at the sky.  Where the clouds were thinner, they glowed moodily with the veiled luminosity of the stars.  Elsewhere, bright flashes of lightening illuminated the violent expanse of water.  Suddenly, out of the roaring, watery blackness, the furious waves would appear, frozen by the instantaneousness of their lighting.  Their sides reflected the harsh light of the tormented sky; their peaks frothed like a mad animal.  After taking in the conditions of his environment, Alex turned his eyes to his companion rowing.  Lucius’s features were made to look harsh in the brutal light of the storm.  His eyes descending from the other’s face, the doctor saw a frame full of youthful vigor and potency, stained only by the former prisoner’s wince with every stroke of the oars.  The situation was too desperate for it to be worth the effort of inquiry.  All else was out of sight, and the men relied only in the constancy of their rowing and Lucius’s mage’s intuition for direction.

            Half an hour passed.  Lucius pointed behind them.  “There is a boat.”  Alex turned to look.  Although he didn’t initially see it, a boat was visible, intermittently, in the distance.  Alex watched, transfixed, waiting for the next flash of lightening to illuminate its progress.  Sometimes the flash would find it at the crest of a wave, as if about to plummet into the trough.  Other times, it would be wholly invisible, lost in the turbulent hills of water.  But always, even if only by small measures, it was undeniably advancing.

            “It looks like one of the patrol boats,” Alex recognized.

            “It is, I’m sure.  What other vessel would venture out on a night like this?”

            Alex looked back at his companion, unable to understand this last sentence, but dismissed his confusion as insignificant.  “It could be the other prisoners.”

            “It could be.”

            They continued on.  The other boat remained more or less in sight for an hour, slowly drawing nearer.  Lucius and Alex switched places again.  Finally, the boat was close enough to make out those on board.  The faces were unfamiliar, unfriendly.  It was not the other boat of escapees.

            “Keep us steady,” Lucius ordered.  It was a difficult command, but Alex did his best.  Lucius turned and raised himself a little from the seat.  During the moments the other boat could be seen, it was clear that its passengers had spotted the lifeboat.  Lucius stared intently in the direction of the boat, raising his right hand.  There was a flash, and Alex thought he heard distant cries through the tumult of the tempest.

            “What did you do?” the major questioned.  His inquiry did not express the deep concern he felt; his reservoirs of mental and physical strength were both nearly depleted.

            “The only sensible thing,” Atratus responded as he sank back into the boat.

            The next thing the doctor remembered was a discomfiting surprise at the absence of the forceful rocking of the gulf.  He opened his eyes slowly, startled by the calm.  The storm had passed, and the boat had somehow reached the northern shore of the Ribecarian.  For all Alex knew, he hadn’t even blacked out; it was possible that he had simply been too tired to remember anything.  Surely, the conscious effort of someone had kept the boat from capsizing.  The magnitude of this feat struck then him; they had been fantastically lucky.  They!  Yes, the memory of Lucius made its way into Alex’s disorganized and groggy mind.  Maybe Lucius had kept them afloat.

            Alex opened his eyes.  He saw faintly that dawn had just broken.  The sun ascended serenely in the east, and seagulls were flying through the air, enjoying the wonderful feeling of relief that follows such great furors.  The world seemed safe again.  But it was not.  Alex remembered that too, and he remembered the boat that Lucius had destroyed.  Alex climbed out of the boat and looked around.  Lucius was lying face-down on the sand of the small beach on which the boat had landed.  Landwards lay a great cliff.  Alex knelt and roused his companion.

            The two took a few minutes to compose themselves, and then began to disassemble the boat, tossing its rent wood and broken oars into the waves, or scattering them along the beach and covering them with sand in order to disguise the landing site.  Cutler appreciated the resources of the Republican military.  It would likely be able to find them if it so desired.  And Lemenge would want it to find them.

            Once the boat had been obliterated, Alex began to walk along the cliff.  Approaching a bend, he heard a sound of water different from the lapping of the tide.  On the other side of a rocky wall, a stream was flowing out of the cliff itself, onto the beach, and into the gulf.  Looking more closely, he saw that it flowed from a large cave.

            Cutler walked back, too tired to jog, and shouted to Lucius of his discovery.  They returned to the site of the subterranean stream’s emergence.  The young mage quickly scaled the face of the rock between the shore and the cave’s opening.  Alex walked to the base of the waterfall and began his own climb.  Nearing the entrance, he reached a hand upwards.  “Give me lift, comrade.”