The Extraction: Ch 1

Chapter 1

Kendric looked down at his hands, amazed at the digital perfection displayed before his eyes. Or at least what the program made him think were his eyes. The program made everything feel and seem so real by relying on the mind to fill in the gaps between the pixels. This is what the software engineers told him.

His hands stretched and flexed when he told them to. He tried to fool the program by moving each of his fingers individually in a random pattern. Index, then middle, then middle, then pinky etc. Faster and faster. His fingers kept up.

“Nice work.” He said out loud thinking that the Fount operators on the other side of the program would hear the compliment.

He looked up to find himself in a plain white room. There were no windows, only a single white door that almost blended into the wall. This room reminded him of an insane asylum from the holo movies he had seen. It was too clean.

He walked to the door listening to the echo his shoes made. They weren’t even his real shoes, but every visitor to the Fount received simple clothing. His shirt and pants were both a simple dark blue. No brand name items.

They were able to perfectly map the human hand into computer code, but to program fancy or decent clothing was too difficult for them. He laughed. Although, he never really cared about his clothing anyway.

He pushed the door open into a well-lit room. Suddenly noise from hundreds of people, or what his mind interpreted as people, flooded his ears. The room was enormous, stretching nearly four stories high with balconies on each floor. To his left there were large glass revolving doors, identical to the front doors of the Fount Inc. reception building in the real world.

People were everywhere. Some in huddled groups others in circles laughing and singing and enjoying themselves. One couple was dancing, weaving in and out of the crowd.

A woman walked through the revolving doors and ran towards a small child in the middle of the room. The woman swooped up the child in her arms and showered her with kisses. The child could not have been any older than seven years old. Poor girl, the only mother she would ever know was this computer program of her mother.

Kendric stepped away from the door and swiftly walked to the circular desk in the middle of the room. A clerk looked up to him with a smile.

“May I help you?” His voice was calm. He seemed to enunciate every word perfectly.

“I’m here to see my grandfather.” Kendric sighed.

“And his name?” Again, perfect tone.

“Henry Georgenson.”

“Ah, one of the first to enter the Fount. I will notify him immediately that you are here to see him.” His gaze did not falter, nor did his expression. He was smiling and continued to stare at Kendric. He shivered. Kendric hated it when people stared at him for no apparent reason. Perhaps the program put a zit on his forehead that was clearly visible to all. A practical joke created by the computer programmers.

“Thanks.” Kendric cautiously turned away with a half smile. Strange.

“He’ll be here in five minutes.” Kendric looked back to see the clerk in the exact same position.

Did he even move to use a phone to notify my grandfather? Nope. He was perfect, still, unmoving, and mechanical. For how perfect this program is, there sure seems to be a lot of little discrepancies that make this perfect world not-so real.

Kendric waited for a minute by the counter, but felt the clerks gaze in the back of his head so he decided to explore the room. Walking towards the glass revolving doors he noticed the guards. They looked more like the clerk from behind the counter, but they didn’t smile. Each one stared off into nothingness, but seemed poised and alert at all moments.

They stood between the people and the doors. Probably guarding the entrance. No, they were guarding the exit, making sure no one who did not have authorization could leave the building into the alternate world they called the Fount. For some of the real people who were visiting never thought that there was anything beyond those doors. Perhaps some believed that there really was nothing beyond those doors and the program just teleported the uploaded people into the room from their extensive databases. Kendric was one of those people.

But then again, why would there be guards to keep the real people from leaving?

Kendric turned away from the doors. A large spiral staircase led up to the four balconies. No elevator was needed because supposedly everyone in the Fount, even visitors, was portrayed as perfectly healthy and strong. There was no need for elevators. There were countless doors on each balcony. Each one had a number engraved above the threshold. These rooms must be reserved for higher paying customers to have private rooms for their reunions.

Some of these doors must also lead to the “special” rooms. Kendric heard of some rooms that had swimming pools, bowling alleys, tennis courts, bars, or even restaurants inside.

There was a strong attempt to make this building feel as though it was everything that the Fount had to offer. It was spotless, white marble columns and floors. Crystal chandeliers and bright lights were everywhere. It looked abnormally expensive, but simple. It was, in lack of a better word, perfect.

A man in a simple gray suit walked past Kendric towards the reception counter. The clerk gave him the same smile, and then pointed at Kendric. The man slowly turned around.

His hair was chestnut brown and hung down to his shoulders in a sleek flat wave. His hairline was perfect, as though he had never lost any hair throughout his life. He had bushy eyebrows that overshadowed his brown eyes. He looked just like the picture Kendric’s mother showed him several years ago. It was his grandfather when he was twenty-five or so years old; it was Henry.

The man smirked, lifting the right corner of his lip. He walked briskly, no, excitedly towards me with arms wide open. Kendric was uncertain as to what he should do. He imagined seeing his grandfather as an old frail man in a wheel chair hooked up to hundreds of wires keeping him alive. At least that was how his mother explained what happened to his grandfather. Now he appeared to be younger than Kendric himself. Was he supposed to then act the older more mature part in this reunion?

“My boy!” His voice was smooth. There was a hint of Kendric’s mother’s softness behind his voice. Unexpectedly, Kendric longed for his mother and opened his arms to receive the embrace. They stood for a moment in their silent hug.            Kendric noticed the smell of fresh pine needles on his grandfather’s suit jacket. The program was impressive to distinguish between the freshness of the scent of real pine needles and the fake car-freshener that his mom always had. The scent brought him back to reality; it was a program and this was only the copy of his grandfather’s brain waves. Nothing more.

“You know I have not had a visitor in nearly twelve years.” Henry let go of Kendric and smiled. His smile was not like that of the clerk’s perfect and unnatural smile.

“Yeah, well you know my Mom.” He tried to laugh.

“I know her all too well.” He paused, looking past Kendric for a second. “But you are here now, finally coming to realize how false she was about me, no doubt?”

“She told me your were dead. Is that not true?”

“She never told you about me being uploaded into the Fount, did she?”

“No,” Kendric sighed.

He frowned.

“No matter, you know now that I am alive and well here.” He took a step back and circled around in front of Kendric with his arms outstretched.

“That depends on your definition of alive”

“Out there I am dead. Out there my own family has forgotten me. Out there I have ceased to exist.” He folded his arms. “But in here I still remember my kids. In here I still remember my wife. In here I still remember. I still think. I continue to expand my mind and develop other talents. In here I have found a life that I wished I had had. In here I’m more alive than I ever was out there.”

“Oh,” Kendric looked at his feet. The idea of living on forever inside of this program was no longer just a game. There was a deeper meaning behind the curtain of the phrase eternal life.

Henry rested his hand on Kendric’s shoulder. “Gaw. Don’t you worry about me. I’m alright being a non-existent entity here in this virtual matrix.” He took a breath. Kendric was sure that he felt the air enter the man’s lungs. “Now tell me, for what reason has a fine young man like you come to visit with a grumpy old grandpa?”

“Well. I’ve been given an offer to work as a software engineer for Fount inc.”

“Ha! One of those computer fellas!” He covered his mouth to laugh.  “Then you need to fix the problem with my coffee tasting the exact same every day. It tastes like crap.”

A laugh escaped Kendric’s mouth. Perhaps this “perfect” alternate world wasn’t too far from the real one.

They both laughed for a minute.

“Yeah, I wanted to see with my own eyes,” he paused, “or with my mind, how this program is. How it feels, reacts, and performs.”

“They did a pretty darn good job, didn’t they?”

“Too good.” Henry could imagine how the software engineers wrote the code that made up everything they saw, heard, felt and smelt. He could see in his minds eye how simple it would be to make everything in this world perfect. That’s what made it nowhere near reality.  “It’s too perfect. I plan to help make it real.”

“Really? Why is that?” Henry had a puzzled look on his face. Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to him that he misses reality over perfection. Or maybe he doesn’t want it.

“Well to program perfection is simple. But to program the haphazard occurrences that make up reality is a challenge if not near impossible. My playing field.” He smiled and stuck out his chest.

“Well, then make sure to make coffee taste good.” He laughed again. He must have been a happy man before his death (or before he was copied).

“Well that depends on where they put me.” His grandfather didn’t seem to understand. “I mean that depends on whether or not my boss lets me do personal projects for my grandpa.”

“Oh. I see.” He paused and the smile disappeared. “So what of my daughter? Your mother I mean?”

Kendric bit his lip and turned around. He had planned to lie. But it seemed so much easier to lie to a computer program when he devised the plan than it did now.

“Come now, how is she? How is my Isabel?

“I don’t know.” There was a pause. Ten minutes must have gone by in silence. No, it was only one minute. “I ran away when I was 15. I haven’t heard from her since.”

Kendric turned around only to see his grandfather frown. A tear had left his right eye and left a silent trail down his cheek. He was no longer the 25 year old young man, but there was a wise aged look in his eyes. One he never forgot.

Thoughts of Naught

I oft think of dreaming.

Amid the galaxy of mind

Float my dreams,

Concepts

Questions

Beyond thought.

Understood

Answered

By all

And by none.

How can dreaming

Make the unknown

And non-existent

Normal?

Then why can’t my mind,

Being normal,

Comprehend the nothingness of

Nothing?

How can I think or dream

Without life, or thought

If all ends with naught?

What would I think?

Why must I think?

How did my being

Come into being

If that which exists not

Has no thought?

Though, what

Confuses the confused

The wise, the great and small

Is thinking of never ever

Truly existing at all.

Yet, here and now

I think,

Therefore I am.

So I pray and seek

That I will dream

To forever think.           

The Extraction: Prologue 1st Draft

Prologue

The hum of the computer equipment was all Henry could hear. It was a different kind of hum, a deep drone that slowly built up to a high pitch then slithered back down. Much more entertaining to listen to than the constant beeping of his life support equipment.

The doctors were engaged in a heated argument with several technicians. His son and daughter were in the corner listening. Doctor Shelby (or was it Doctor  Kelly? Henry never could remember) had tears in her eyes. She kept shaking her head. She paused to look at Henry and for a brief moment Henry wanted to cancel the whole thing.

Her frown penetrated his spirit. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to stay and make her happy. She was in fact the only bright light of hope he had had for the past several years of his chemotherapy. He wanted to reach out and give her a hug. To comfort her. To reassure her that everything was all right.

Everything was not all right. Henry knew he was about to die. The therapy, in fact, made the symptoms worse. He couldn’t breathe without a machine. His heart needed a pacemaker. He lost control of his legs. But what Henry feared and hated the most was that he lost all of his taste buds. No more glorious sensations of eating tri steak, honey roasted ribs, country fried chicken, or even the sweet chocolate fudge chocolate cake.

The doctors had an IV keeping him alive. They told him it was just like steak, the same amount of proteins and fats; but he couldn’t taste it – it must have been a lie.

Something was moving Henry’s arm. He could tell they still couldn’t believe how hard they needed to touch him for his senses to register. It was doctor Shelby (or Doctor Kelly).

“I don’t like this idea, Henry." She had to strain to speak loudly while maintaining her composure. “Henry?”

“W-why?” Henry frowned at how hard he had to work in order to mouth this simple word.

“I don’t think it will work. It seems fake.”

“Mr. Georgenson, I can assure you that it works.” It sounded like a whisper from one of the computer technicians. He wore a dark purple polo shirt with three golden letters above his pocket; FOY – it stood for the Fountain Of Youth, their company’s best product. “Fifty-three people have already been successfully uploaded into the FountainOfYouth.exe. They love it, Mr. Georgenson. They love it.”

“It’s too good to be true. Science fiction, Henry. That’s what this is.” Doctor Shelby (or Kelly) was shaking. “I don’t want to lose you.”

 “Doctor,” he strained, “you and I both know how little time I have left.” Henry’s voice was raspy and faint. More of a whisper.

“Exactly. This is why we need to upload his mind now. If his condition worsens then we may not be able to copy his mental synapses in time.” The computer technician frowned. He appeared to be concerned for Henry’s condition, but Henry knew that if he died before this technician could do his job then the technician would lose a sale. He probably has a lot depending on the commission he’ll receive from just Henry’s purchase of this new technology – TheFountainOfYouth.exe.

“Don’t worry doctor.”

The doctor stiffened. She knew Henry’s decision. The technician produced from his pocket a form and held it on the side desk next to Henry. It was a form of consent.

“Father.” His daughter was crying. She of course opposed to him willing his soul over to a computer program. She was just like her mother. “Father, please. Let God be God and go to Him.”

“We both know I will not be permitted into Heaven.” Henry attempted to smile. It was his little joke with her. “Please let me try this out, and if it doesn’t work then you’ll have your wish.”

“That’s not what I meant, father.”

Henry began coughing uncontrollably. The doctor had to pat him on the chest slowly to ease the attack. She held a small glass of water to his lips that he quickly sipped down, spilling over his medical apron.

“Please father.” She was begging, just like when she used to beg for a special doll that talked for Christmas. Determined to be upset if she didn’t get what she wanted. In some ways she still hasn’t grown up.

“This is a chance to live without this damnable  illness-infested body!” Henry attempted to raise his voice, but only managed to squeak the last words. “Hook me up and let’s do this.”

“You understand the regulations and terms of agreement, Mr. Georgenson?” The technician knelt next to the bed with one hand on the form. “We are not liable if your body should pass away during the uploading process, nor do we have the capability to reverse any mental illness that might come from the procedure. You agree to these terms, Mr. Georgenson?”

Despite his continually decreasing control over his body, Henry managed to sign the form. His daughter left the room, head buried in her hands. She acted as if Henry had died that instant. Little did she know that he would live on forever with this new technology.

The technicians began removing countless cords and wires from the boxes that they had on a medical cart. A computer monitor was set up. A keyboard. Several large black cords were plugged into the power outlets lining the wall. A set of cords connected the computer to an alien-looking box with hundreds of dials and LED lights covering all sides of the box. A set of needles and suction cups and even what looked like a headband were all connected to a single large cord extending from the box.

The technicians cautiously spent half an hour positioning these wires and needles all over Henry’s head. The needles didn’t bother him, he was used to countless IVs and vaccines that several more needles would only tickle him. Finally they carefully positioned the headband over his eyes.

“Try to keep your eyes open.” They told him. There was an intricate array of smaller LED lights and even laser lights on the inside of the headband.

He heard someone typing on the keyboard. Exhilaration quickly enveloped Henry. Finally he was going to be somewhere where he could run again. Where he could laugh again without doubling over from abdominal pain. Where he could walk without his arthritis shaking. Where he could taste the rich coating on a chocolate cake. Even if it were all in a computer program sending messages to his brain; he was okay with that.

Besides wasn’t all of existence mental anyway? Isn’t that how he could sense anything in the first place? That’s what the nervous system does; sends signals to the brain informing it that one of the five senses is being used. Henry was trading one world of mental synapses for another with electronic signals.

“Okay, we’re ready to upload.” One of the technicians said.

“Good. Now, Mr. Georgenson. May we proceed? Is there anything you would like to say before we begin the uploading process?” It was the main technician again with his calm collected voice.

Henry smiled and tried to lift his hand in order to wave. “We’ll stay in touch, Stephen, my son. Come talk to me often.” He paused to suppress a sob. “I love you and tell your sister that I’ll be all right.”

“I will. Goodbye Dad.”

“Okay young man, Mr. Fountain Technician sir, start us up.” Henry’s excitement bubbled over into his voice. It was giddy and light.

A few more keys were typed and the slow hum from the equipment began to speed up. The noise grew louder and became a high pitch that Henry could barely hear anymore.

A slight tingle sensation began at the top of his head. The lights inside the headband began flickering. Henry flinched from the lights and instinctively closed his eyes.

“Eyes open!” Henry strained to open them. Anticipation kept them open. A new world was on the other side of these lights. A never-ending world. A world without pain. A world where …

One of the Blind I Am Not

One of the blind, I am not.

I limp not nor do I faint

No evil spirit in or out

Neither am I ill or sick

My skin is whole and well

My loved ones and I, alive

I can speak and write and tell.

Yea, my wrong tis not notable

But one who heals is here

Giving sight to all who sees not,

Strengthening the lame with care

Freeing the souls from devils and demons

Healing both leper and the sick

Giving life to those who sleep

Putting words in mouths sealed thick

Even opening the long closed ears

How can I dare attempt to try

To ask His help for me

How would He even hear my cry

To heal my heart from this scar

I weep no, but pain I feel

A commandment I’ve transgressed

The penalty and hurt is real

But, outwards tis unseen

My sin boils within my heart

Oh, how my soul longs for freedom

From guilt, and anguish for a start

This endless torment and torture

I wish oh wish He’d come

I wish He’d rid me of this

But alas, He’s too busy for one

And alas there’s too many to heal

Why would he waste time on me?

What would it prove?

How could he even make me free?

But who would and could?

He stops, and, looks my way

I cannot believe it

He comes to me to say:

“My son, know ye who am I?”

My soul jumps with this thought

So I reply with all my being

“Thou art He, the son of God

And I am unworthy in thy presence

But, please I ask of you, if thou wilt

Save me from what ails me

Remove from me this small pain and guilt

But if not, heal those with greater need.”

He smiles and reaches out his hand

I grasp his as he explains

“My son, I say t thee, stand

for thou has faith and hope and charity

Though ye may not be blind

            Nor lame

                        Nor possessed

                                    Nor sick

                                                Nor leper

                                                            Nor dead

                                                                        Nor mute

Ye have been found in greater need than these

Therefore thy faith hath made thee whole

And thy sins are forgiven thee

Be of good cheer, and sin no more”

Tear upon tear, full of gladness

My heart is healed and whole

Empty of anguish and now guiltless

Thanks to my Lord on High

He healed me, He heals me, and He will always heal me

For He is my Savior and my Lord and my Healer

He healed me.

Is My Faith Strong Enough?

The road has been rough

Full of temptations tough.

With sun and wickedness

To repentance and gladness

Being born in the church

And, early, learning the word

With borrowed faith and light

I follow trying to choose the right

I hope someday along the road

I might develop faith of my own

With a grand conversion story

Of how I found my testimony.

But alas my story differs

From that of a convert

Who knows the difference

And has an amazing experience

Because others besides me fell away

Is why I tremble here today

“Is my faith strong enough?

Do I have the needed love?”

I don’t even remember

When I became a member

Or why, with my father

Did I enter the water

But here I am, look at me

My faith was a borrowed seed

Slowly growing within me

And now it’s an enormous tree

I know this to be true

Not just for me, but for you

We may not be the lost sheep

Or even the humble or the meek

But if we do our best

Putting our faith to the test

With or without an experience

The Lord will make up the difference

So now let us together comprehend

This is how to endure to the end

Oh, Do I Wish I Were Special

Oh, do I wish I were special

Full of wonderful talents

So that I might be recognized.

In this, I would be thankful.

I wish I were an Olympic runner

Passing my opponents and fears

Until I become the victor

With this, life would be better.

I wish I were the smartest,

Needing no schoolwork

To figure out the worlds problems

With this, from work I could rest.

I wish I could be another Mozart

Playing my sorrows and cares away

Making millions with my music

With this, joy would enter my heart.

I wish I were playing for the NFL

Where everyone would know my name

Because of a 100 yard touchdown

With this, all would be well.

But I forget to realize

I need not to win the gold medal

I need not to ace all my tests

I need not to write a masterpiece or two

I need not to wear a pro jersey

I need not these things … to be special

I have my own talents and strengths

That makes me, the unique me

In this, I am eternally grateful.

Ready to Play

A boy, full of hope,

Asked coach Ray;

“Can I suit up?

I want to play!”

The coach smiled

And looked at his paper.

“See here kid,

You’re on the roster”

The boy leaped for joy

And ran back home

So happy, this little boy,

That he told his mom,

“It was like a dream,

It’s such a great day.

I’m on the team,

I will go and play!”

A game rolled along

His stomach wrenched,

But the time was wrong

From he sat the bench.

The next one soon came

He cheered loud and hard,

No play time this game.

But he asked with all his heart;

“I’ve been feeling low,

What must I say?

Let me in coach,

I’m ready to play!"

Coach then told him,

“I’m truly sorry,

You’ll get to go in

Don’t you worry.”

Games three and four,

Both came and went.

The boy’s team scores

While he warms the bench.

Wearing the ninety-two

He’ll ask all day

“Let me show you,

I’m ready to play!”

The boy doesn’t give up,

He persists again.

The coach looks up

And begins to grin.

The season’s almost over,

The last game begins

The coach walks over

And lifts the boy’s chin,

“We’re down by one,

This is the last play.

Get in there son!

You’re ready to play.”

Hope in Success

HOPE is courageously waking up everyday.

COURAGE is in a wisely prepared mind.

WISDOM is through worn scriptures diligently used.

DILIGENCE is in tired but loving shoes.

LOVE is through confident hands of service.

CONFIDENCE is in a determined “will you.”

DETERMINATION is in sore but strong knuckles.

STRENGTH is through joyful feeble knees.

JOY is through successfully serving.

SUCCESS is in the black nametag.

A Mercenary's Price (Final Draft)

Esrek gazed out into the campsite. A damp-dirt smell filled the night – normally a good omen for a plentiful harvest. But there were thousands of men moving through the sea of tents. They were more like ghosts instead of soldiers: silently deserting.

“Where are they going, Troeg?”

“They’re leaving … to fight for them.” Troeg replied, never lifting his gaze from his hands. He was caressing his dark-blue uniform: the colors of the Kingdom of Kanta.

Esrek was silent. An emptiness formed right above his stomach.

“The surviving scout reported that the enemy has …” He paused, “thousands of swordsmen, hundreds of cavalry, and eleven sorcerers.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “S-sorcerers?”

“Warlocks. Five times more deadly.” Troeg extended his arms as if to drop his uniform. He closed his eyes. Then he threw it to the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

Troeg lifted his gaze to the moonlight. He silently stood, hefting his sword and in one hand and a small pack in the other. “There is no way we can win this. I’d rather live to see another sunset than die for a lost cause.”

“You too?” Esrek knelt next to the uniform covered in dark soil. “You c-can’t leave me. I …” he fumbled, “I never even k-killed a man. Without you … Don’t leave me again.”

“Father didn’t love me as he did you, Esrek.” Troeg snapped to face him. His voice was deep and harsh. “Besides, there was no wealth in his inheritance. No future.”

I loved you. Esrek wanted to say, but the tears were already coming so he quickly turned away. He couldn’t show his brother. Esrek still loved his brother even though Troeg caused their mother such pain that she fell ill and died a month after he ran away, or that their father grew somber and never smiled again.

“Leave it in the past. Come.” His hand was outstretched towards Esrek. “There’s no hope for Kanta.”

Esrek sat, staring at his battle-hardened fingers. The emptiness grew from behind his chest to envelop his entire body. Nothing could fill it. Kanta was going to loose the battle. Half the army was defecting to fight against it.

“Why?” His voice quivered and shook. “Why are they leaving?”

“To survive.” He paused. “To feed our families.”

“What?”

“They offered me double.” His voice became hushed. “I can’t stand to see my children miss a meal again.”

Esrek choked on the knot in his throat. Greed. All that these men really cared about was money. Even my brother, Troeg.

“But your family lives in Kanta ...” Esrek glared up at Troeg, not caring for the tears gently flowing down his cheeks.

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” His face grew stern again.

“You’re willing to fight against your own family?” They were traitors against their king. Traitors against their families.

“I know what I’m doing!” His voice strained. He instinctively brought his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I fight for my family.”

Esrek slowly stood up. He could feel his heart beating faster, harder, louder.

“Which family?” He was shaking.

Troeg stood motionless. His breathing quickened. He brought his eyebrows together into a sharp angle.

It won’t be too difficult for him to abandon his family, like he did mine. And for what? A few extra gold coins, maybe? It would cause just as much pain and hurt to them as he did to our parents.

Esrek glanced at his spear leaning up against his tent. But he couldn’t. He still loved Troeg.

But.

“Enough. If you remain here; then I will not stay my sword on the battlefield.” He was frowning. Troeg was serious. As he always had been.

“Don’t hurt them, the way you did our family,” Esrek sobbed. “The way you did me.”

“Goodbye, little brother.” He shouldered his pack and turned to join the procession of deserters.

A wave of heat began to fill Esrek’s emptiness; coursing through his arms and legs. He grasped his spear, gazing at it with wide eyes. Then in one chaotic motion he stabbed his brother just below the shoulder blade. Troeg coughed blood and fell, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s trembling hands. A silent moment passed between them. Troeg’s eyes grew dim; then alone.

“I’m sorry big brother.” Esrek burst into another stream of tears. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

Another sob.

“I loved you.”

A Mercenary's Price (4th draft)

Esrek gazed out into the campsite. Hundreds, no, thousands of men were weaving through the sea of tents. They were like ghosts; leaving. Deserting. A strong damp-dirt smell filled the night. Normally a good omen for a plentiful harvest.

“Where are they going, Troeg?”

“They are leaving, to fight for them.” Troeg never lifted his gaze from his hands. He was holding his dark-blue uniform. The colors of the Kingdom of Kanta.

Esrek was silent. Emptiness formed in his stomach. Something was terribly wrong.

“The surviving scout reported that the enemy is unbeatable.” He paused. “Tens of thousands of swordsmen, hundreds of cavalry, and eleven sorcerers.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “Sorcerers? How?”

“I didn’t believe it either.” He extended his arms as if to drop his uniform, then stopped. He pulled it back to his chest and closed his eyes. Then without warning he threw it to the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

He lifted his gaze to the moonlight. He silently stood up hefting his sword and scabbard in one hand, and a small pack in the other. “There is no way we can win this. I’d rather live to see another sunrise than die for a lost cause.”

“You too?” He knelt next to the mud-stained uniform. “You can’t leave me. I … I never even killed a man. Without you … Don’t leave me again.”

“Father didn’t love me as he did you, Esrek.” He snapped to face him. His voice was deep and harsh. “Besides, there was no wealth in his inheritance. No future.”

I loved you. Esrek wanted to say, but the tears were already coming that he quickly turned away. He couldn’t show his brother. Even though Troeg caused their mother such pain that she fell ill and died a month after he ran away, or that their father grew solemn and never smiled again. Esrek still loved his brother.

“Leave it in the past. Come. There’s no hope for Kanta.” His hand was outstretched towards Esrek.

Esrek sat, staring at his hand. The emptiness in his stomach grew to envelop his entire body. Nothing could fill it. Kanta was going to loose the battle. Half the army was defecting to fight against it.

“Why?” He sobbed. His voice quivered and shook. “Why are they leaving?”

“To live. To survive.” He paused. “To feed our families.”

“What?”

“They offered me double.” His voice became hushed. “I can’t stand to see my children miss a meal again.”

Esrek choked on the knot in his throat. Greed. All that these men really cared about, was money. Even my brother, Troeg.

“But your family lives in Kanta ...” Esrek glared up at Troeg, not caring for the tears slowly flowing down his cheeks.

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” His face grew stern again.

“You’re willing to fight against your own family?” They were traitors against their king. Traitors against their families.

“I know what I’m doing!” His voice strained. He quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I fight for my family.”

Esrek slowly stood up. He could feel his heart beating faster.

“Which family?” He was shaking.

Troeg stood motionless. His breathing quickened. He brought his eyebrows together into a sharp angle.

It wont be too difficult for him to abandon his family, like he did mine. And for what? A few extra gold coins, maybe? It would cause just as much pain and hurt to them as he did to our parents.

Esrek glanced at his spear leaning up against his tent. But he couldn’t. He loved Troeg.

But.

“Enough. If you’re not with me; then I will not stay my sword on the battlefield.” He was frowning. Troeg was serious. As he always had been.

“Don’t hurt them, the way you did our family,” Esrek sobbed. “The way you did me.”

“Goodbye, little brother.” He shouldered his pack and turned to join the procession of deserters.

A wave of heat began to fill Esrek’s emptiness, coursing through his arms and legs. He grasped his spear, gazing at it with wide eyes. Then in one chaotic motion he stabbed his brother just below the shoulder blade. Troeg coughed loudly and fell, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s trembling hands. A silent moment passed between them. Eyes locked.

“I’m sorry big brother.” Esrek burst into another stream of tears. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

Another sob.

“I loved you.”

A Mercenary's Price (3rd draft)

A shadow passed by the tent. Esrek jumped out from under his blanket. He forgot that he was no longer on his farm. Icy wind blew the flap open with a loud clap.

“It’s alright, Esrek.” Troeg’s voice was a whisper.

“What is it?” His heart was beating quickly.

“It’s over. We’re leaving.” his voice was calm but hushed. Hiding something. Neither a frown nor a smile on his face. He was strapping on his well-used uniform. Such an honorable and prideful uniform.

Troeg silently slipped out of the tent. He stood motionless in the yellow moonlight. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword. He appeared so majestic.

Esrek scrambled out, almost tripped. After regaining control he pulled a ripped and torn  brown tunic over his head. He then looped a dark-blue sash over his left shoulder. The military sash of the great Kingdom of Kanta. Allegiance.

He gazed out into the campsite. Hundreds, no, thousands of men were weaving through the sea of tents. They were like ghosts silently moving away from the camp. They were leaving. He shivered.

“Where are they going?” his voice quivered, and cracked.

“Away from death.” He took a deep breath.

Esrek was silent. An emptiness formed in his stomach. Cold, he hugged himself.

“They heard the report from the only surviving scout.” Troeg answered his thoughts, “The enemy is unbeatable.”

A knot formed in Esrek’s throat. “So they’re leaving us?”

“Yes.” Troeg paused and unclipped his dark-blue sash. He held it for a moment, hesitating. Then without warning he threw the sash to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose and fell, lightly covering the dark-blue color of Kanta.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” He was still looking at the defiled sash, now tattered with splotches of brown dirt. He took a deep breath.

“You can’t leave me.” Esrek knelt to the ground and picked up Troeg’s sash in his shivering hands. “I never even killed a man. I need you.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He turned away from the sash.

“But … but, you’re the most brave swordsman I know.” Troeg stood silent for a moment. His breathing quickened. “Why leave?”

“How dare you call me a coward!” He snapped around, eyes narrow and focused. Esrek jumped backward, bringing his arms up to protect his face from Troeg’s towering gaze. “There’s no hope for this army! See? I want to live!”

Esrek dared not answer him.

“You won’t understand.” A minute passed. Two.

Esrek was shocked. Troeg was leaving his post. His duty. His honor in order to survive. Selfish. Yet, Esrek longed to agree. To desire life and liberty. But that’s what they were fighting for, wasn’t it?

“You coming?” Troeg’s voice was quiet and firm again.

“Where?”

“To them.” It was a whisper. A dark cloud covered the moon, pouring a dark, cold shadow over the camp. A sharp painful shiver ran up Esrek’s spine.

He couldn’t believe it. These men weren’t just running. Not only cowards. They were deserting their king only to back stab him. They were disgracing their wives, and their families.

Troeg too.

Greed for survival, or worse yet; a higher pay. They dishonor their families, and for what? A few extra gold coins?

Esrek choked, coughed, and spit sour bile onto the ground. Disgusted. How can Troeg do this? He disgraces even my family. For money and for fear, he has become my enemy. Tonight. My king’s enemy. My family’s enemy.

The dark cloud silently shifted, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the camp. Esrek could feel his heart beating faster. A single drop of warmth coursed through his torso, his legs, his head, his arms.

Esrek lifted his spear and gazed at it for a moment, hesitating. Then with a single movement he impaled Troeg just beneath his shoulder. He toppled over, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s shaking hands. Troeg’s face was twisted, in ruin, and strewn with hate and fear. A silent moment passed between them. Staring.

“I’m sorry big brother.” The tears began to silently glide down Esrek’s face. Silent as the procession of the deserters making their way to the east. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quivering arms. “But my family comes first.”

Another sob.

“So sorry.”

A Mercenary's Price

A shadow passed by on the outside of the tent. A chilling breeze passed with it, dispelling all tiredness from Esrek’s frail body. He flinched and curled up under his blanket. Cold.

“What is it, Troeg?” his voice was muffled, chilled, and broken. He shivered in the breeze.

Troeg was strapping on his uniform in the moonlight. That uniform has seen many many battles. It has brought his family much pride and honor.

“It’s over, Esrek. We’re leaving.” his voice was calm but hushed. Hiding something. Yet he was serious. Neither a frown nor a smile on his face.

Esrek sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Troeg frowned and silently slipped out of the tent. He stood motinoless in the yellow moonlight. His hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword.

Esrek scrambled out into the night and slipped his mud-stained brown tunic over his head. Esrek held a dark-blue sash in his hand, ready to clip it on over his left shoulder. It was the military colors of Kanta, that distinguished friend from foe. Allegiance.

Shadows of men in the moonlight glided through the white tents, weaving their way to the east, towards the eminent battlefield. Like ghosts. Soldiers. Peasants. They were leaving. Some had their small packs on their shoulders. Others still clung to their spears.

“I never thought I’d do this.” Troeg unclipped the sash from his uniform. He held it for a moment, hesitating. Not sure of what he was doing. Then without warning he threw the sash to the ground. A small cloud of dust rose and fell, lightly covering the dark-blue color of Kanta.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t lecture me, Esrek.” He was still looking at the defiled sash, now tattered with splotches of brown dirt. He took a deep breath.

“You can’t leave me.” Esrek knelt to the ground and picked up Troeg’s sash. He patted the dirt off. “I’ve never even killed a man!”

“I know what I’m doing.” He turned away from the sash.

“But I don’t.”

“Stay, if you wish to die.” His voice was harsh and bare.

“But ...” The procession of retreating shadows continued to grow. Half of the army must have joined the departure. Another breeze swept through the tents sending what felt like shards of ice into Esrek’s spine. Shivering did nothing to relieve the icy heartache now in his stomach. The yellow moonlight darkened, covered by black clouds.

“But, what?” he picked up his pack.

“But... you’re the most brave swordsman I know.” Troeg stood silent for a moment. His breathing quickened. “Why leave?”

“How dare you call me a coward!” He snapped around, eyes narrow and focused.

Esrek took a step backwards and bowed his head. “Sorry sire.”

“I want to live. There’s no hope for this army.” His voice was silent but strong. A minute passed.

“Then, where are we going?” Esrek hefted his spear and leaned it against his shoulder.

“To them.” It was a whisper.

Desertion. These men aren’t only cowards, but they lack all sense of honor and national pride. They had greed. Greed for survival, or worse yet; a higher pay. Esrek couldn’t believe it. All these honorable men who had beautiful wives and families were now disgracing them. Deserting them! And for what? A few extra gold coins? Their own selfish life?

Esrek choked, coughed, and spit sour bile onto the ground. Disgusted. How can he do this? He disgraces even my family. For money and for fear he has become my enemy tomorrow. Today. My nation’s enemy. My family’s enemy.

The dark cloud silently shifted, allowing the moonlight to pour onto the camp. Esrek could feel his heart beating faster. A single drop of warmth coursed through his torso, his legs, his head, his arms. Troeg turned and began walking towards the east.

Esrek lifted the spear off his shoulder and gazed at it for a moment, hesitating. Then with a single movement he impaled Troeg just beneath his shoulder blade. He toppled over, yanking the spear out of Esrek’s shaking hands. His face was twisted. In ruin strewn with hate, surprise, anger, fear, and loss. A silent moment passed between them. Staring. Their eyes locked.

“I’m sorry big brother.” The tears began to silently glide down Esrek’s face. Silent as the procession of the deserters making their way to the east. Kneeling he cradled Troeg’s head in his quavering arms. “But my family comes first.”

Another sob.

“So sorry.”