Jonis by Rowan Erlking (manga ereader TXT) 📕

in the way Lieutenant Chappel praised Emrit. He didn’t want the lieutenant thinking he was up to something sinister.

“A metal of honor for ingenious thinking and going above and beyond duty.” The lieutenant pinned a small medallion onto Emrit’s shirt collar. “Wear it with honor.”

He allowed Emrit to return to his troop. Not another word was said. They were dismissed. When they left to evening activities, the men gathered around Emrit.

“That is amazing,” one of the men slapped Emrit on the back, grinning so that his yellowed teeth showed. “So you’re the one who fixed that fungus problem. Thank you a ton! My feet were nearly bleeding. This morning, walking on the floor cured it. How did you do it?”

Emrit avoided Jonis’s tense stare and merely shrugged. “I found something. I heard it was bothering some of you guys. Besides, I’ve been wanting to try out some herbal remedies I have been studying lately.”

The men praised him more, but Jonis did not linger. He marched on to the barracks.

Not a word. Not that Jonis expected praise, but he was disappointed that Emrit didn’t at least acknowledge that he was the one that had passed on the information to him. Of course, inside he knew that Emrit would not publicly admit he was consorting with a demon. It just seemed unfair that this man got the credit for all the work he had done. Yes, Emrit gathered all the supplies, and he did help with the preparation of the ingredients. But Jonis had mixed them together to the exact specifications the salve required, making it potent with an additional spell he was learning. Besides that, the salve created a rather caustic vapor that burned out his sinuses and made his eyes red and tear, an odor that Emrit could not stand at all. Fact was, Jonis had to scrub the floor with it by himself. H wore a rag over his face to keep out the fumes. Nobody even nodded at Jonis in acknowledgement. In a way, he wished they had known and even accused him of tampering where he ought not.

“Jonis?”

Jonis raised his eyes. Emrit had his arm out. He was holding up a package with the string just cut.

“The mail came and my mom sent too many cookies for me to eat. Do you want some?”

A shiver ran up Jonis’s arms. He peered into the box, seeing several kinds of baked sweets. Glancing at the others in the room, Jonis hesitantly reached for one.

“You can have all the gingersnaps. I don’t like them much,” Emrit said.

Glancing up, Jonis smiled. He reached under his pillow and drew out the copied set of notes from his latest scroll. He said nothing. Only smiled. A cookie for an herbal remedy. The exchange strangely felt fair.

 

At the beginning of the following month, Jonis’s troop was running five miles around the inner camp rim, chanting along with Temis. “A thumpity thump, jumped the gump, a clappity clap, flapped the bat, a chiggery chig sang the gnat—so early in the morning. A chattery chit yipped the chimp, a yippity guff, barked the dog, a flattery flerred, flew the bird, so early in the morning. A cloppity clop trot the….”

Jonis looked out past the fence, jogging inside the middle of the group. He noticed a large bus riding in to the grounds, followed by several civilian vehicles.

“Fresh meat,” Oprin said to his pal jogging next to him.

“We aren’t Troop Green anymore then, huh?” his pal breathily replied.

“Hurrah for that!” Emrit shouted. He quickened his pace some.

The bus started to unload. All kinds of people came out. Rich stiffs, poor scabs, middleclass meatheads….  Jonis blinked. It was true; his troop was now a conglomerate of soldiers without individual identities, except maybe for him. He was still known as ‘the kid’, though more often ‘the demon.’ Although he was with his troop and dressed like his troop, he would never be one of them.

They continued their run, following the curve of the fence until the administration building was out of sight.

 

“Troop Green! Front and center!” shouted their drill sergeant.

They marched to the front of the evening procession, standing at firm attention for their drill sergeant to inspect them.

“You are still soft. This is not a graduation or a step up. You do not deserve it, and you certainly are not fit for it, but a new set of recruits are taking your place, and I must beat them into shape. Sergeant Hybiss is your new leader. From now on, you take your orders from him.” He let his eyes fall on each man, stopping on Jonis. “Learn your place in the Brein Amon army and you may take a place in it. Good bye, men.”

He marched off without another word. They knew the new recruits would have a chewing out that night of the ugliest kind. Though they hoped the new sergeant would be kinder, they knew such were only fanciful wishes. Upon seeing the sergeant’s stern and carved-looking mug, they knew he would be a strict taskmaster.

Staff Sergeant Hybiss stood in front of them, pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket. He tugged them on as they watched. Slowly, all eyes turned to Jonis. The sergeant walked straight up to the young man, raising his chin to look down at him. “I hear you are to be specially handled.”

Immediately Jonis felt the man’s fist ram into his gut. Doubling over, Jonis clenched his stomach.

“A Cordril passed through my village once. Killed a farmer. Stole his goats. That farmer was my uncle. We hunted the demon down and killed him, chopping his body into little pieces and setting it on fire.” The sergeant’s voice was gravelly. “I know how to deal with your kind, and I don’t care if the general has allowed you to be among us decent folk. You had better watch yourself.”

He left Jonis, walking over to inspect the others. “You will all address me as Sergeant Hybiss. You will say, Yes, Sergeant Hybiss. No, Sergeant Hybiss. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sergeant Hybiss,” they shouted back.

“Good.” He crossed over to his second in command. “This is Sergeant Romley. He will be your drill instructor. You are to address him as Sergeant Romley or just Sergeant. Take over from here, Sergeant.”

The man was young, perhaps twenty-three if that. He was pleasant enough to look at, though he had a shrewd twitch in his eyes when he gazed on the recruits. Standing tall, he took a step forward and called out. “Attention!”

The men of the troop stood straighter. Jonis straightened out, still wishing he could hold his stomach.

“You are now Troop Gold. Your new schedule is thus,” Sergeant Romley announced. “First, rise and dress. Second, run five miles before breakfast. Third, mess hall. Fourth, latrine duty. And whoever cleaned up that last latrine, you are to do the same to the officers’ latrine. It must be spotless and fungus free.”

Jonis sighed, peeking a glance at Emrit. Emrit remained at attention.

“Fifth, hand-to-hand combat training. Sixth, obstacle course. You will learn how to tackle any ground for battle. Seventh, free time before dinner.  Eighth, night drills. Ninth, clean up. Tenth, lights out.” He paced, eyeing the men. “I expect prompt obedience. Any deviation will be punished.”

He glared at Jonis as he walked by.

“Dismissed!”

They parted ways. Many of the men went back to their barracks. Jonis lingered a moment, watching the staff sergeant follow him with his eyes. Shaking his head, Jonis turned and headed back to the barracks also.

“Recruit Macoy,” the staff sergeant called out. “Come here.”

Stopping, Jonis closed his eyes. He turned on the ball of his foot and marched back, expecting more abuse. He halted, standing at attention a pace away. “Yes, Sergeant Hybiss?”

“Shut up, you piece of devious slime. I know what you are up to, and it won’t work,” the staff sergeant squawked, practically hissing through his teeth.

Jonis blinked at him. Normally he’d give a cheeky remark asking what the staff sergeant thought he was up to so he could be clued in, but he figured that would just get him another fist in the gut.

“I don’t know how you convinced the general, you monstrous thing you, but I am going to prove that you are up to no good,” Sergeant Hybiss said.

That would have made Jonis smirk, but he worked extra hard to stop himself.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” the staff sergeant demanded, blustering as if upset he had not gotten as rise out of Jonis at all.

Deciding that meant the staff sergeant wanted him to speak, Jonis answered. “Yes, Sergeant Hybiss.”

The air echoed with the shouts of their old drill sergeant 

“What? Just, ‘Yes, Sergeant Hybiss’?” The man’s face grew red. “No witty retort?”

“No, Sergeant Hybiss,” Jonis responded, feeling quite proud of himself that he had kept his cool.

The staff sergeant slapped him. “You will pay dearly for your insolence.”

He tromped off.

Clenching his sore cheek, Jonis shook his head. “There is no pleasing that man.”

“Is that your goal?”

Jonis turned. He saw Sergeant Romley still standing there. He shook his head.

“No, Sergeant.”

“Can’t you say anything other than yes and no?” Sergeant Romley snapped.

Shrugging, Jonis replied, “Maybe?”

That got him another slap on the left cheek.

Rubbing it, Jonis heard the man shout at him. “You are impertinent! Sergeant Hybiss was right about you. Never trust a demon.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Jonis said still rubbing where he was struck.

He shouldn’t have said that. The sergeant, slapped him again, then slugged him in the stomach. He knocked Jonis back one more time, raising his fist overhead as the new recruits marched by with their things to their new living quarters. The Green Troop drill sergeant frowned, but continued to call out the march. “Left…left…left, right, left.”

The recruits murmured as they watched Jonis crouch on the ground, blinking open his luminescent blue eyes and clenching his teeth.

“Blue eyes,” one uttered.

“How did a demon get in here?” another hissed.

“You are not wanted, Cordril.” The sergeant sneered over him.

Jonis coughed, spitting out some blood. He wiped his mouth, touching where his gums were bleeding.

“Now get out of my sight.” Sergeant Romley kicked him.

Expected to run as an animal, Jonis merely stood up, squaring his shoulders. He gazed at the sergeant and walked away.

The sergeant shuddered, watching him. Shaking the chills off, he turned and marched back to the main building.

 

“Where were you?” Emrit asked below a hiss. “I had to make that fungus formula myself. I don’t even know if I got it right.”

Jonis sat down on his cot, closing his eyes.

“What happened to you?” Emrit asked.

Opening his eyes, Jonis reached into his pillow and pulled out the scroll. “I got to know the sergeant personally.”

The room’s chatter died some. People were listening.

Rolling out the scroll, Jonis peered at it, licking a cut on his lip, testing the sting.

“Maybe you should go home,” Emrit said. “It is only going to get worse. They do that to make sure the soldiers are fit for combat, you know.”

Jonis lifted his head from the scroll, blinking at him. “They beat people up to make them fit? That does not make any sense.” He stuck his head down again. “They just hate me.”

Emrit did not attempt to lie to comfort him. He knew it was the truth.

 

They followed the new schedule to the letter, starting the following day. Emrit was not entirely wrong when he said things would get harder to weed out unfit soldiers from the army. The funny thing was, those that were near the breaking point at the end of the week were not the ones he would have predicted. Korin got stronger through the new regime. Temis lost a lot of weight, but did not drop out. Julwes Greenwald was weeping for his mother, and Oprin was caught trying to sneak some tranquilizer pills from the medical office. As for Jonis, he retained more bruises than normal, withstanding the verbal and physical attacks he had to endure daily, most of which were during the obstacle courses