17. Chapter Sixteen
17
Charmaine
C harmaine peered into the gray skies. The color belonged to the Deadlands, a gloom promising thunderstorms but never gave way to rain. Snow, on the other hand, fell continuously. Soldiers maintained the camp by endlessly shoveling. They surrounded the encampment with causeways so thick and cold people marched on them to survey the perimeter. Charmaine had been put to work that morning. Although the sun rose hours ago, the heat never greeted them, forever trapped in the skies.
“Tuckerton, we’re to switch out,” Karles said on his approach. He reeked of cigar smoke. She grumbled when stepping aside, letting him stand watch in her stead and hurrying to escape the stench.
Mages were tasked with monitoring from the embankment because they were quicker at defending than pistols that ran out of bullets. A boring task, but simple, and it allowed Charmaine time to herself. She disliked working alongside the soldiers, always paranoid about how they perceived her. If she came across too feminine or too weak, they would notice. She kept her voice low and puffed out her chest for the simplest grievance. Some days, she felt like a mirror, reflecting the world and never herself. One day, she hoped that mirror would break.
Hurrying down the steps, Charmaine moved through the crowded camp toward the medical bay. The camp grew in the days since the fae scouts departed. The soldiers that had taken their wounded from the battle at Lockehold returned. A couple of troops heading toward the Deadlands to join the upcoming battles arrived, too. Due to all the fresh faces and friends reuniting, the soldiers became boisterous. Charmaine hated all the noise, the clamoring, and now dodging a drunk man, who would be scolded once higher officers came by. Not that many cared. In the army, everyone became accustomed to a thorough shouting.
Through the throngs of bodies, she came upon the med bay. William spoke with a patient, someone suffering a cold based on his red nose and loud sneezes. Being huddled together for so long meant illness spread rapidly. She counted over a dozen soldiers coughing and wheezing in the beds. Scribbling on a clipboard, William didn’t see Charmaine until he walked by her.
“Off wall duty?” he asked on his way outside.
“Yeah. I have a few hours before I’m to return,” she replied, following him toward the supply tent next door.
“Then you should take this time to rest.” William slipped inside. Charmaine lit a flame that hovered nearby, more for heat than light.
“I’m not tired,” she said, which was unusual for all of them. Even while waiting for the inevitable fight, the soldiers had chores. Hunting for more food, shoveling the walkways, securing tents, cleaning clothes and bedding, securing the wall, checking on supplies, sharpening knives, anything and everything kept them busy from dawn to dusk. Then they slept in old sleeping bags that took months to grow accustomed to. Charmaine usually always passed out the moment she laid her head down, but the last couple of days she had a giddiness to her.
“I’d rather help you than get caught by another and told to do some boring or annoying task. I’ve got a bad enough headache already,” she added while holding her hand out for the clipboard. Montgomery often tasked William with checking the medical supplies. After helping on numerous occasions, Charmaine knew what to do and William gave the clipboard to her without fuss.
“Like I said, you should rest to get rid of that headache,” he repeated, sounding as caring as ever.
“It’ll go away soon enough.”
Times together were often spent chatting, but William examined the crates in silence. He was never as much of a chatterbox as her. Upon their initial meeting, their conversations lulled. William’s abrasive demeanor deterred her from speaking. Over the years that reservation thawed, and William partook in conversations naturally. This felt like he had reverted to their training days when horrors haunted their heads they had yet to learn how to manage.
As a teenager, Charmaine stood out among the ranks without meaning to. She refused to crush a frog under her boot or to tease the other boys if they cried after a bad training day. Her empathy put a target on her back. If there were others like her, they steered clear to survive. She would never fault them for that. The military crushed anyone who didn’t conform to their ideals, or forced them to mold themselves into someone else entirely. She hated it. She hated them, all of it, the expectations and pain and suffering. If she could, she’d make them all pay ten times over.
Charmaine attempted to disperse her thoughts by asking, “Do you think they’ve found Fearworn?”
“The Deadlands is an extensive region, but fae are quick on their feet and Nicholas claims to know of Fearworn’s location. If they haven’t found him yet, I imagine they will soon,” William replied.
He opened the next supply crate to count everything, remarking the numbers to Charmaine. She noted the items to ensure nothing was suspiciously missing or what needed to be ordered on the next supply run. She didn’t envy the soldiers having to travel in and out of the Deadlands. The generals sent a force with them, but it never felt like enough.
“Nicholas never explained how he can track Fearworn,” she said. The memory irritated her. He acted so nonchalant about the admission, like this couldn’t change everything. She tapped the charcoal against the clipboard. That giddiness remained at the base of her spine, like a snake coiled to strike.
“Does that matter? If he gets his hands on the bastard, I’ll be happy enough,” William said.
“But what if he gets to Fearworn before we do? What if he defeats him without us?”
William cast her a confused stare, one that she shared because she wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She didn’t want to see Fearworn again. She especially did not want to fight him, at least, she didn’t think so. Something at the back of her mind shrieked. Not in fear, but excitement. That should have scared her, but the giddiness in her chest exploded into a vicious light that warmed her to the tip of her toes. Similar to when she used the Sight, when the flames licked across her fingers and did not burn, for they belonged to her. She became the fire, bright and deadly. The first time that happened, she had never felt so powerful or safe.
“What do you mean?” William asked, hesitantly.
“Uh…” She swallowed hard. “What if he requires help? He wasn’t able to fight off Fearworn alone before.”
“I would say that it’s doubtful Nicholas would make a move, but he’s…”
“Beyond mad?”
“To put it mildly,” he mumbled. “The other fae may prevent him from making an idiotic decision, and surely the generals and fae commanders told him not to make too soon a move.”
“I suppose you are right. The generals must have us waiting for a time they deem acceptable to approach.”
“Yes, our feeble brains are likely incapable of imagining their grand schemes,” William said sardonically.
“You could pretend to be more curious.”
“I am curious, but I know the two of us gossiping about it won’t get us any closer to what is going on.” He shut the crate and moved onto the next. When he opened the box of herbs, the scent hit Charmaine hard. Her mind rang, and she gagged.
“Is something wrong?” William passed a cursory glance between the supplies and her. “Do you smell something strange?”
“You do not?” Her eyes watered from the scent strangling her nostril. “That stench does not overwhelm you?”
“No. Everything smells like usual. The scent certainly never bothered you before.”
“Perhaps this place is finally getting to me.” She pinched her nose that had reacted too much of late. Most things had an unpleasant stench, save fae. They always had a sweet floral aroma, as deceiving as their words.
William hurried to finish that crate and slammed it shut. The scent lingered, but had dissipated enough that she breathed normally. He continued his path from one crate to the other, eyes distant and lips set into a permanent scowl.
“You’ve been quiet of late,” she claimed. “These last few days, ever since we returned, you’ve been off, stuck in your head.”
“There has been a lot to think about,” he admitted. “First I was exhausted, then there’s the possibility of getting closer to Fearworn. As you said, the generals tell us nothing. We haven’t received mail, either. I don’t like not hearing from my family or them hearing from me. I’m as worried and troubled as everyone else.”
William spoke sense. Charmaine worried about not hearing from her mother. They didn’t send letters frequently. Her father thought it was unnecessary so he refused to pay for paper and stamps. They would be notified if she died in war and he couldn’t care less hearing about what happened here. But Charmaine feared her mother being alone for so long, that she didn’t have anyone to ask her how she’s feeling. On bad nights when the bastard drank, no one would be there to comfort Bessie, not even a letter from her child to remind her, in time, they would escape him for good.
Although she understood William’s concerns, Charmaine couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
She wasn’t sure how she knew William lied. Something in his tone of voice was different. The tone itched her eardrums, pierced them like an aggravating whistle and she growled, “You are hiding something from me.”
“I am not.”
“We both have enough going on. I do not need to worry about your secrets too. You are the only person I have here.”
He retreated from the crate of linens. “You are the one acting the strangest. It’s nothing, really, but are you alright? You’re… irritable.”
“Irritable,” she repeated, ready to argue, except that was exactly how she felt. Irritated by everything and she couldn’t discern why. Even now, she had no reason to snap at him. Her hands ached from how tightly they clenched, and that certainly wasn’t necessary.
“No, I, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped.” She forced her muscles to ease. Everything felt tight, like a worn violin string ready to snap. “I have an awful headache, probably from those herbs or something I ate.”
“Or from eating too much, you have been devouring every piece of food you can find,” he teased while stepping in for a hug. Charmaine always cherished the hugs William started first, since it was normally the other way around. She eased into him, releasing a pleasant sigh.
“We’ve both had a rough time of late. I appreciate your help, but I’ll finish up here. There’s hardly anything left. You need to rest,” he said.
They released each other, and she stepped back. “Are you sure?”
Before he answered, a soldier entered the tent requesting supplies. The soldier fell silent upon spotting them. The tension previously eased returned from a familiar face, one that haunted her nightmares from time to time.
“Good morning.” Theodore O’Connor carried a devilish smirk that hadn’t changed in four years, although his stocky nature as a teenage boy came to suit him. He stood tall and sturdy, constructed of pure muscle and hardened lines with a thick beard around his square jaw. His fists doubled in size. Charmaine couldn’t forget how often those fists swung at her, how often her blood stained his cool, white skin.
Theodore’s gaze swept over their uniforms, specifically the nametags. “Tuckerton and Vandervult? It has been a long time.”
“You seem to know us, but I don’t recall you,” William said, like he truly meant it. Charmaine didn’t believe William forgot the face of the boy he saved her from all those years ago. But William excelled at playing pretend. She didn’t have the same pension for such skills. Her emotions showed too much. They were what got her in trouble to begin with.
“Theodore O’Connor,” he replied with a smack to his broad chest. “I spent almost a year training alongside Albie. You and I didn’t know each other long. I think about two or three months before I was shipped off? My troop arrived the other day with reinforcements.”
William hummed. Charmaine fumed. Her fingers ached to release the flames she didn’t know she could make back then. Memories of horrid days spent under the boots of angry teenagers consumed her. The disinterest of their instructors who found the beatings necessary enraged her. They always said the beatings would build character, teach Charmaine and many like her to toughen up. It didn’t matter if the boys broke bone, if they locked her out of the barracks at night so she’d find a shed to sleep in to survive the cold, nothing changed. Not until a melancholy and precarious boy came along with a nasty right swing and brutal advice; they will never stop hurting you, so you better start hurting them.
And she did, albeit not nearly as violent as the boys had done to her. She took pleasure in revenge, and hated herself for it. Charmaine didn’t want to be like them, didn’t want to “toughen up,” like the instructors said. What was wrong with being soft? With empathy, kindness, and compassion? Why couldn’t her flames bring warmth rather than destruction? She knew the answer, but hated to think about it; because the world was a cruel place and loved to remind her of that.
“Don’t smile at us as if we’re old friends,” she growled, animalistic and deep.
Theodore shot her a bemused look, the one he showed any who stood up to him during recruitment days. “Hey, I know I wasn’t the nicest kid, but we all found ways to let off steam, to cope with being taken away from our families. I am sorry about all that.”
“Liar!”
Fire roared in her hands, the same way it had during the first battle she had been dispatched to. A grump ran at her and she envisioned herself dead in its grasp. As the beast leapt, she screamed, then she saw them; the strings. Calling to them, fire erupted from her fingertips and the grump deteriorated into ash. She had been excited and scared, but here, in front of Theodore, she was angry. That animosity rose, hissing, spitting, venomous and deep. She saw red, flames high and bright, all-consuming.
Theodore took a lumbering step back, hands up in surrender. “Whoa there! Someone learned some new tricks, but I ain’t interested in seeing them up close.”
William took hold of her arm. If he spoke, his words eluded her. She couldn’t hear anything other than the blood rushing through her veins, the fire crackling in the palm of her hands, and Theodore’s panting. She smelled it somehow; his fear. Something sweet and inviting that encouraged her to raise a fiery hand, eager to watch the flesh melt off his bones.
“I think it’s about time you learn what it feels like to be a plaything.” She almost laughed, but then the war drums rang.
Soldiers shouted. Rushing steps fell. Charmaine’s concentration on Theodore broke. Another overwhelming aroma stabbed at her, musky and sulfur-like. William ran outside, as did Theodore, and they stepped into a gloom like night, except it shouldn’t be midday yet. Above them, the sky went black from the wild flapping of monstrous wings and death fell upon them.