Dreams of the Quill

Dreams Come True

“Grandpa Snow!” called Jeld from outside Intra’s tent, waking him from his light sleep. He scrambled up from his bed and stuck his head outside, shivering. The field was illuminated by torchlight and the sky was pitch black. No matter how many times Intra gazed at the southern night sky, the lack of stars always amazed him. After a couple minutes and a couple gentle “Grandpa Snows,” he remembered that Jeld had called for him, and that now wasn’t the time to admire the blank sky.

“What is it?” he asked after suppressing a yawn. Jeld stood with a lit torch in one hand and coil of rope in the other. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. Intra read her smile as good news. “Did the scouts just make it back?”

Jeld nodded.

“They say they found some really significant structures to the south,” she said. “Some tall buildings or monuments, something. Still intact.”

“Miraculous!” exclaimed Intra, jumping back from the tent flap and grabbing the blanket off his bed. He wrapped it around himself, braced himself for the cold of the night, and ran outside. Workers were milling about with far more energy than they had exhibited during the daytime, shuffling materials between the roped-off patch of land they’d been excavating and the supply wagons.

“It’s a huge boost to morale,” Jeld smiled, following Intra’s gaze and focusing on the people milling about.

“As well it should be!” Intra raised one fist toward the heavens. “MEN!”—everyone stopped in their tracks and turned to face the professor—”it seems as though we’ve got something new to examine!”

Cheers rung out across the field. Intra scanned the faces until he found the two men he’d sent to scout for new digging grounds.

“Ial, Deyn, you know what you saw, and explaining it to me would be a waste of precious time. I leave it to you to organize the expedition to move on. We’ll move out in the morning.” The two men, middle-aged workers who had been with Intra for the twenty years since enrolling in his class back home, saluted energetically.

“What should I do, Grandpa Snow?” asked Jeld quietly as Ial and Deyn began shepherding the rest of the workers.

“You can just rest until dawn,” shrugged Intra. “That’s what I plan to do.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” protested the redhead. “I can help—”

“No need. Ial and Deyn have it under control.” Intra turned to return to his tent.

“Wait!” Jeld called. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What could I be forgetting?” asked Intra, looking back over his shoulder.

“Two things, Grandpa Snow. Two things. First, that half the crew is sick.”

Intra raised one eyebrow at his assistant.

“They can lie on the wagons if they don’t feel like walking.”

“They’re in no condition to move, period!” argued Jeld. “They can’t put up with much sickness, Grandpa Snow! They’re frail to start with, frail and—” she stopped mid-sentence, looking down awkwardly.

“They’re old, I know,” said Intra, “I’m old, too. Sitting idle is a sickness. I’m out of time.”

Jeld looked back up, glaring furiously at the aged professor.

“Your workers… your friends… they’ll die if you push them too hard.”

“Talk to Ial and Deyn about it, figure something out,” said Intra bitterly.

“Second, you said your grandson was coming to meet us.” Jeld paused and waited briefly for Intra to react. When he didn’t, she went on. “He won’t find us if we just pack up shop and move. Shouldn’t we leave someone behind—”

“Sure,” said Intra before disappearing into his tent. Once inside, he dropped down onto his bed and sighed, staring off into the space beyond the wrinkled fingers of his right hand. “Del,” he whispered, “do you see, now? I could forget even something like that, you know…”

Tomora Ynthon kept his eyes closed as he listened with rapture to explosion after explosion ringing out through the halls. It was the grandest symphony he had ever heard. Booming acoustics called out to him. He could feel his hands trembling in his lap, begging him to move them. He could feel the fetters around his wrists as he reached out, binding his hands together, preventing him from spreading his arms.

He could hear voices yelling over the explosions.

He wanted to silence the voices. Who were the speakers, to interrupt this moment of musical genius with their brutish vocals? Only the silkiest of voices would be suitable to accompany the epic sounds of masonry collapsing, of beams falling, of wood bursting into flame, of bodies being crushed. Tomora leaned forward, groping in the darkness for the throats of the speakers. His hands were tethered together, but that would provide no obstacle to strangling a man.

“C-Commander!” It wasn’t a shout, it was a desperate gasp.

Tomora’s eyes snapped open and he found himself looking into the frightened face of his new aide. He looked down from the reddening face of his subordinate and saw his hands, wrapped firmly around the young man’s neck. He released his grip and wordlessly fell back into his seat, leaving his aide gasping for breath and massaging a badly-bruised neck.

The carriage the two were riding in rocked gently as it cut across a fallow field.

Tomora peered out through the open window behind his seat. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky and the lay of the land, they were rapidly approaching the northern border of Byhr.

“D-did you have a bad dream, sir?” asked the aide once he’d recovered. Tomora remained silent. “If you’d like, you can tell me—”

“No,” replied the newly-promoted commander.

“No?”

“I was having a miraculous dream, Jung,” Tomora stated. “A dream of freedom.”

“A dream of freedom, sir?” The aide, Jung, laughed ruefully as he rubbed his neck. “You seemed to be in pain!”

“It was a dream of freedom!” shouted Tomora, turning from the carriage window to glare at his assistant. He wondered how he had managed to fall asleep whilst riding the wave of pride and joy brought by his promotion. He frowned as he recalled the corridor leading to and from the Council Chamber. Though he had left the congress in high spirits, he had quickly grown weary.

“Sir?” asked Jung, and Tomora realized that his expression had been darkening gradually as he recalled the day’s events.

Tomora smiled sweetly at his aide and inclined his head as if bowing before an audience.

“I’m living that dream now.”

Jung laughed awkwardly and shrunk back, away from Tomora. The commander dropped his smile and returned to gazing out the window. The sun was low in the western sky. The final day of the twenty-third congress was almost over. Tomora idly wondered what other ludicrous rulings the Council had made. If they’d promoted him, a Cressoan refugee, to the position of Commander—the highest military rank in the country—they had no doubt approved equally insane ideas.

“Jung, did you know that our country is run by senile geezers?”

“Hahaha, is this a test of my loyalty?” inquired the aide. He smiled and put one hand over his heart. “I can recite the entirety of the Better World Recipe. Would you like me to—”

“No.”

“No?” asked the aide, at a loss. “Then—”

“That stuff doesn’t matter if you’re working under me,” said Tomora dismissively.

“Then it was just a joke?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Did you know that every person, no matter how well-respected he is, is capable of base murder?” The aide nodded. Tomora faced his assistant and narrowed his eyes. “Keep this in mind, Jung. You’re working for the most violent man in all of Byhr right now. Your top priority, at all times, is to take me seriously.”

“May I ask a question, sir?” asked the aide, making a pronounced effort to remain calm.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t the Councilmen the chosen of the God of the South, men with holy powers which they use in order to secure the promised land for the God’s people?”

“Hah! The God of the South?” Tomora burst out laughing. “Don’t they teach you anything in your schools in this country?”

“Yes, that.”

“But any textbook will tell you that that’s completely false! South of Byhr lies the Ocean of Lown. There are no gods or people who live there. God? God’s people? Unbelievable. Who teaches children in this country, the clergy?”

“Yes.”

Tomora blinked.

“Well, that’s something I didn’t know.”

“Written texts were banned when Byhr was formed, years before my birth, sir. What I was taught in school was that—”

“I get it, alright. I get it. I didn’t know it, but I understand completely. Byhr thinks it can control its people with censorship.” Tomora spat on the floor of the carriage.

“What’s censorship?” asked Jung, wincing as he moved his right foot further from the spot where the commander spat. “I-If you don’t mind my asking…”

“It’s the grossest thing a government can do,” responded Tomora with a sigh. “Listen, Jung?”

“Yes?”

“If I ever start strangling you, or anyone else, in my sleep ever again, hit me in the face.”

“But sir—”

“Capital punishment for striking an officer?” Jung nodded meekly. “There’s only one thing I want you to worry about while you’re in my service. Do you understand that?” Jung nodded again. “If you serve me well throughout our upcoming campaign against Cresso, I will tell you about my dream before the next congress begins.”

“Yes, sir.” Jung relaxed a little and slumped back in his seat. He wasn’t sure he was terribly interested in his commander’s dream, but he understood what Tomora meant. If he played along, and served well, he would still be alive this time next year. That was something Jung was quite interested in.

Tomora chuckled to himself.

Byhr employs such inelegant methods in its attempt at controlling the world… I’ll show those old men that nations can be controlled with raw military power. With destructive force and violence alone, I will establish a Byhr that is more secure, more permanent, and more appealing than the grisly portrait of totalitarianism being painted by those delusional Councilmen.

I’m not going to silence anyone. I’m not going to steal anyone’s voice.

Tomora Ynthon envisioned a Byhr he would be happy fighting for, and knew that he would fight to create it.

But before that, he had to eliminate the Cresso Empire.

Intra Noi woke up, rolled onto his back, and looked up at the canvas ceiling overhead. He could tell that it was light out, so, groaning heartily, he forced himself to get out of bed. In the end, he had slept fitfully, and he did not feel ready to meet the day.

“They’re waiting for me,” Intra told himself as he changed robes. “New dig site. Morale.”

He stepped out of his tent and blinked furiously, unwilling to believe his eyes. He pinched his arm, he slapped himself, he scratched his head, he turned around twice. Only two of the five other tents remained erect. All but one of the wagons were gone.

He spied Jeld and a couple older men—associates of Intra’s from his university days—crouching down by the ropes, engaged in a lively discussion. The three of them were taking turns pointing at various parts of the excavation site.

Intra massaged his upper arms as the cold bit him, and then began walking toward the three. As he approached, Jeld looked up and greeted him.

“Good morning, Grandpa Snow!”

The two men, Gouff and Tone, crept away from Jeld and Intra cautiously, sensing their leader’s displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked Intra, sending his angriest glare Jeld’s way.

“What do you—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Why is everyone gone? Why am I here? What are you doing?”

Jeld didn’t reply. Gouff and Tone nodded toward Intra quickly and then scurried off to one of the tents, their exit escaping the distracted professor’s notice.

“I’d like an answer, Jeld.”

“You told me to figure something out for the sick, so—”

“I’m not sick.”

“I know that—”

“Why am I still here?” Intra wondered why Jeld wasn’t cowering. When she had first joined his group, she had trembled every time she had made a mistake, even when he hadn’t been angry. Now he was furious, and she wasn’t budging.

“You said I could choose someone to stay behind so that your grandson would find us.”

“And so you chose me?” Intra demanded.

“Yes.”

“Why—why in a million eternal years in the Shaded Orchard, would you ever, and I mean ever, even think of doing that?! You can’t send my workers off to a dig without me! I’m the professor! It’s my group… my dig… my research…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue, and contented himself with further contorting his frown.

“You’re the only family that boy has,” murmured Jeld. “That’s what Mister Koul said.”

“You little sneak!” yelled Intra. “You read my—”

“No!” shouted Jeld. Intra blinked; it was the first time she had ever raised her voice so drastically in his presence. He didn’t know how to react so he said nothing. She pulled a folded piece of paper from her breast pocket and held it out for Intra to inspect. “Mister Koul wrote me, too.”

Intra snatched the letter from Jeld and read it aloud.

“Dear Jeld,

“Perhaps you’ll remember me as Professor Koul, one of the Harnecia Royal University faculty members who attended Grandpa Snow’s talk a year and a half ago. I was at the reception afterward, and the three of us discussed politics. Thank you as always for taking care of Grandpa Snow. As I explained to you when we spoke, he is the father of my sadly departed childhood friend, and knowing that you’re there for him while he’s out on those insane expeditions of his puts my heart at ease. His family is one that doesn’t need more hardship.

“But I am not writing you only to thank you. I have a favor to ask of you, Jeld. Soon, I will be bringing Snow’s grandson, Tyff, to join your expedition. Snow’s wife, who has been taking care of Tyff since Tyff’s parents died, has just passed, and I believe Tyff should be with his family rather than some strangers.

“Here’s the favor—please, make sure that Grandpa Snow and Tyff get along. There are a number of reasons”

Intra looked from the letter to Jeld, then back to the letter.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked, huffing and puffing as he waved the half-sheet of paper in front of Jeld’s face.

“I tore it off and burned it after memorizing it.”

“Why did you do that?” Intra, puzzlement replacing his earlier anger.

“So that I wouldn’t be able to show it to you.”

“Why?”

“Because this letter wasn’t meant for you. I knew there’d be a reason for you to read at least part of it, though.”

Intra looked back at the letter, skimming it again before releasing his grip on it. He watched as the southern wind blew it away, carrying it out of sight. He sighed deeply before turning back to Jeld.

“I’ll let you know this right now, Jeld. I don’t need you meddling in my family affairs. I don’t want you to speak privately with Huun Koul when he gets here, either. Do you understand?”

“No,” was Jeld’s simple response.

“I’ll have to ask you to.”

“I don’t think I ever will.”

“Explain yourself.”

“There’s nothing to be explained.” Intra’s eye twitched at his assistant’s insolence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Grandpa Snow, I have no reason to continue this conversation right now.” Jeld stood and brushed some dirt off her pants. “I’m going to go check on the sick now, and make sure that those who can are eating properly. I believe you have something to be doing right about now, too.”

“And what’s that?” asked Intra desperately as Jeld began walking away. She looked back over her shoulder.

“Your book, Professor.”

After several minutes of standing motionless in the cold, Intra slumped back toward his tent in silence.