Country's War

 .6  

Army of Soldiers

     Waves. The waves never began or ended. Nor did they cease crashing against the hull. The chain rope heaved Atryn up and his armor sunk him back down again. As he was pulled above the waves he took a breath and focused his eyes and saw two thin hands jut between a curve in the sea of two monstrous waves. Atryn gathered his strength and pulled himself towards the hands. He saw the man sinking. The ship careened to its side and dipped, and he found himself near the man. He tried to dive after him but the chain yanked at him. He unhooked the chain from the cleat and held it in his armor gloved hand, and reached out for the drowning man.

     The men on the ship pulled themselves up at the gunwale to peer over. "He's drowned for sure!" "No one can survive those waves." "He was the best soldier I ever saw!" 

     "He was a softheart and a fool. Good riddance. I'll lead the squadron." Tarkys bit from a bread roll. The men fell from the gunwale and gathered round him. Parcleus clung to the side of the ship searching for any movement. Any hint of color or armor. After thirty minutes, all he could see was the thrashing sea. He felt his stomach churn the same. And he fell from the side. He sat beside some of his mates, and felt a hand on his shoulder and they consoled him. He held back his tears, and thought of the day his father did not come home with his crew. His throat chewed itself. The day he was handed his father's sword and armor. The very sword and armor he now wore. Had it been Atryn who handed it to him? That stolid summer night, when the air smelled of campfire and charbroiled husk. Now he'd never know. He laid his head down on the metal bench and a tear rolled down his cheek, that he hid from the others, and he hoped to hide from himself. 

     The sun oranged and began to fall, and the promise of eve's chill awoke him. Or was it the metal thud, that sounded like a heavy boot on the hull of the ship? Either way his eyes opened with the dusk and he raised his head and rushed to the gunwale where the chain was still hooked on the cleat. A few of his mates followed him. Their youthful eyes wide and twinkled with the amber sky. An uneven glow emerged, broken by the departing clouds, and bathed the deck in purple gold. The north star shone high above Parcleus' hand as he lifted his head above the gunwale to see Atryn just above the waves with the thin boy clasped to the back of his armor. 

     He let out a boyish cry, tears flowed from him freely now, as with all his mates as they climbed the wall. "Are ya gonna sit there sobbing, or ya gonna help us up!?" Atryn yelled, his voice bellowed as if he were the same warrior that jumped from the ship. As if this tale of heroism would not be told for generations to come. As if he had not taken his rightful place as captain, as general. Perhaps more than that. Not been promoted, but became, the leader of this crew. Nigh, of the entire army of soldiers. 

     As they pulled the two overboard men onto the ship and they all landed on the bilge like a pile of rocks. They cried and laughed and the entire boat cheered and kissed Atryn, whose beard and hair were soaked crimson. He spit salty water out from inside and tore off his drenched armor and the men carried him over to the campfire and covered him in blankets. The suicidal boy lay vomiting and choking and gagging, some how he was glad to be alive, yet remorseful that the sea was not his grave. The night wrapped them round the campfire, as they yelled and cried for Atryn to tell the tale again, of how he braved the wild ocean waves, and brought back the boy from death. The saved boy who would always be protected. So long as the story was told, and he was in the company of brothers. For this was the beginning of more than just the Legend of Atryn. This was the beginning of Atryn Squad and their many feats. Legend of their trials and victories would live forever. And the boy Atryn saved would serve as a symbol of their union, their bond as not only great warriors, but of witnesses to the great lengths they would go in order to protect one another. From no matter what the threat, no matter what the obstacle or how treacherous the danger. For after that day the love between squad mates would forever outweigh the fear of anything.

     They celebrated long into the night, and cursed the stars that hung round their heads like a blanket made of a billion tiny spotlights all fixed on the Iron Horde, that they had no ale. Suddenly, a ship that seemed a giant hulking mass to them just this morning, felt a tiny trifle under the gaze of the galaxy. A small toy in a child's bath, set to spin amongst the thundering splash of the boy God, whose fingers had begun to wrinkle, and whose mother scolded him for spilling soapy water on the floor.
     The young men fell asleep on each other's shoulders and backs, while the older men exchanged war stories, inspired by the days heroics to relive past glories and triumphs. Atryn sat exhausted, but warmed by the fire and blankets. His blood coursed, still enlivened by the endorphins from his hand shake with death. For as the men lifted his legend, only he knew how close he was to the end. What had caused him to fight the sea, to fight the blue eternally warring waters, he could not tell. Perhaps it was the life of the boy. Perhaps it was the plot of land he was due upon return. Whatever it was, he fought the urge to quit, beat back the urge to give in to the soothing song of mother's slumber. A song he knew well, the notes of which now sent shivers through his mind, an empty freezing cold that only the heat of the stars could thaw. But to see the men now, smile and laugh and full of spirit, he squelched the fear, and smiled too. Till his eyes met Tarkys, who stared at him with eyes not of hatred, or envy or jealousy, but of a kind of queasiness. He knew Tarkys had once wished to challenge him as leader of the crew, but now that spar would never commence. Atryn bested him not in battle or strength or even in wits. But in character. The test of heart and soul. A fight Tarkys could not win. Atryn offered him a low nod, and Tarkys replied in kind. Not out of respect, but out of duty. Neither of them slept that night.