The Angaran Chronicles: The General and the Poet by Ben Agar (top 10 non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

Hazed white bordered her view, almost like she was staring down her rifle's scope.

Four words then seemed to push through her skull and into her mind, that made the haze slither away, that caused her brow to furrow and her eyes, narrow. That made her stand and head for her room.

I have to go.

It was an uncharacteristically calm, warm day for Zathar. As she stepped out of her mother's old Calister 4400 her high heeled foot crunched on the gravel. Raleas wore the black dress she'd bought for the funeral; she'd even applied makeup for the first time in ages. Her mother had taught her how over a few days when Raleas was thirteen, and Raleas had humoured her. Now Raleas treasured that memory. At first, she'd been tempted to leave and get to the service as quickly as she could, but she'd still used the time to 'pretty' herself, mostly to honour that memory.

It was one of the few happy times she'd spent with her mother.

The church surrounded by hundreds of motor-vehicles of all levels of quality and makes; she'd parked almost right in the entrance having manoeuvred through the maze with ease.

Like all churches of Jaroai, it loomed over everything around, its bell tower being at least twelve stories tall. Its white walls were so pure they seemed to reflect the sunlight almost as powerfully as a mirror. On small, white pillars were single triangular, varnished oak beams that lined the walls about a metre from the church, just beneath the brown, angled thatched roof. They were decorated with curling, whirling gold eight-pointed stars, the sign of the Jaroaian religion.

Raleas stormed toward the stairs, where two soldiers stood, both in full ceremonial uniform, both about two metres tall and built like brick shit houses.

She knew them both, sergeant Kalvik and private Dulgress served under her father in 'The Savages', the elite of the regiment who were the very best of the best of Zathar's already elite military. Some would say, that was debatable, but Raleas knew it was true.

'We are under orders not to let you in, ma'am,' said Kalvik. His voice was hollow, like tapping an empty glass bottle on a ceramic pipe as if he knew the order was bullshit.

Raleas clenched her jaw; unsurprised her father would order this. She fought the urge to throw her fist at the veteran's face, knowing it wouldn't end in her favour. Not at all.

'You aren't seriously going to keep me from my own mother's funeral, sergeant?' she said.

Kalvik wasn't a handsome man. He was chinless, his neck and face almost seemed to mould together into a brown cliff face. His eyes would've been too small for his narrow face even if they weren't permanently thin in disdain.

But he wasn't a disdainful man despite his outward appearance.

'You aren't getting in, ma'am,' he said. 'Now please leave before we have to make you.'

Raleas didn't move, her gaze fixed onto his.

'Sergeant Kalvik,' she said. 'You are a soldier, aren't you?'

Kalvik's brow twitched. 'I have since conscription, ma'am. But-'

'But nothing, soldier,' she said. 'And what did they teach you in the academy?'

'To follow orders-'

'That's not what I mean sergeant, and you know it,' she said. 'You know to what I'm referring to.'

Kalvik sighed. 'It isn't-'

'Just say it.'

'All right, all right,' he hissed through clenched teeth. 'They taught us that sometimes, an order must be ignored, but only if it's in the direst of circumstances and only if the soldier knows the very second that it is given, it is detrimental, evil and worst of all, subverts the will of he who is above all,-'

'Jaroai,' said Raleas. 'And do you think in all his benevolence and love would approve of a daughter being forced to miss her mother's funeral?

Kalvik grimaced.

'Don't tell me you think that's good, or right? You're a soldier, a human being, not an orc.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'Or a monster.'

Rage, sudden, horrific ensnared Kalvik's face. The rage which was held in check by the slightest of margins.

'What are you implying?'

'I think it's obvious, isn't it? If you don't step aside and let me say farewell to my mother. I will never forgive you; you will always be a monster no better than an orc. Worse than even my father for ordering this! Let me in, now, Kalvik.'

'I'll-I'll,' Kalvik said. 'I'll be kicked out of the army.'

Raleas shrugged. 'Maybe, but I'm sure you could take it to the tribunal, and I will act as witness. Surely they wouldn't agree with this travesty? Would they?'

Kalvik straightened. 'I-I don't know.'

Raleas said nothing, only glared at him, fighting back the tears.

'Sir,' said Dulgress, making both Raleas and Kalvik turn, both having forgotten he was there. Dulgress was Kalvik's adjutant, thus his second in command. Dulgress, unlike his sergeant, looked the stereotypical elite soldier. His jaw was ludicrously square, so square his face seemed almost shaped like an oblong. His forehead was as thick as Raleas' bicep and like Raleas and most Zatharians his complexion almost pure white from living in so far south. Raleas had no idea how Kalvik managed to get his tan. Dulgress' small, blue eyes watered beneath his hooded brow. 'Permission to speak, sir.'

'You are my adjutant, Dulgress. You don't need permission. Speak.'

Dulgress scratched the back of his skull and shuffled his foot. It was a surprisingly young movement from a soldier like him.

'With respect, sir. I-I asked because I thought you won't like what I am going to say. But it's too late now. She's right, and she's so right it isn't even worth pointing out. I would rather be kicked out of the military...I would rather die than stand here a minute longer. This is fucked, sir. Completely fucked.

Kalvik's jaw dropped so quick, Raleas swore she heard it click and felt a smile speared through her stern expression.

Kalvik sighed, placed his hand against his face and turned back to Raleas. 'You're an arse, private. You know that, right?'

Dulgress grinned. 'That's the nicest thing you have ever said to me, sir. Thank you.'

The sergeant stepped aside and beckoned Raleas onward. 'You're free to go, young ma'am.'

Raleas nodded and started to step forwards when Dulgress cleared his throat. 'And if the young ma'am would allow us the honour we'd be honoured to be her escorts, wouldn't we, sir?'

Kalvik sniffed. 'Of course, we would, if she allows us, of course?'

Raleas nodded again. 'Yes, that'd be good, thank you. Both of you.'

The trio then began to ascend the stairs.

With power bordering on the melodramatic, Raleas flung the huge, double oak doors open. They hit the walls with such a crash that the entire procession dropped into silence. Their attention turning over their shoulders.

The priest had frozen in his prayers as he stood at the altar, gaping. His hands still raised above his head. Raleas grimaced, a fitting metaphor. She started down the aisle with Dulgress and Kalvik on her flanks, a step behind her.

The church was even more crowded than the car parks outside. People of all ages sat on the pews, and dozens more stood, leaning against the wall. All of their eyes followed Raleas, Kalvik and Dulgress as they stormed toward the front of the church.

Her father stepped off the end of the left side pew and stood to face her. Even with her guard up, even with every intention to keep walking, Raleas couldn't help freeze as did Dulgress and Kalvik.

Even from five metres away, he seemed to tower over her like a troll.

'What are you doing here?' he said. His rumbling, deep voice seemed to destroy the very air around Raleas, making it hard to breathe. 'I told you that you cannot attend the funeral.'

Raleas swallowed and furrowed her brow, and she swore she could hear Kalvik and Dulgress doing the same.

'Sergeant, private,' said her dad. 'You were meant to stop her from entering. I had given you explicit orders.'

'Sir, I-' said Dulgress, but Raleas interrupted him with a raised hand, she knew now that all attention plastered on the general.

'This is between you and me, father,' said Raleas. 'Leave them out of this.'

'They disobeyed an order,' said the general.

'Only because that order was bullshit,' said Raleas.

There were no gasps or any other sound of shock from the mourners; the silence just became even more intense, even more weighted — accusing, almost terrified.

Her father's only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. 'I am general Sologhor Effernetti of the 81st Zatharian regiment no order I have ever given, nor any I will ever give is 'bullshit.' Now leave, before I make you leave.'

Raleas stood her ground. 'I am not budging an inch, father. This is where I'm supposed to be; she was my mother. What kind of person would prevent his own daughter from attending her mother's funeral?'

'A man who's daughter needs to understand her place!' he said, and Raleas had to fight not to take a step back. 'You questioned me; you questioned my wisdom.'

Raleas straightened as the realisation hit her. 'And that brought it out, didn't it?'

He took a slight step back. 'What?'

'The only person in this world who questioned you was her,' said Raleas. 'The only person who never kowtowed around you; was her. So when I did, it brought those memories back, made you feel it...'

'Feel what?'

'The sadness,' said Raleas. 'Made you have to face it. That's why you punished me; I remind you of her, I made you feel weak-'

Faster than Raleas thought possible her father had crossed the distance between them and his hand clasped around her throat.

'How dare you,' he said while raising her from her feet with one hand. 'How dare you talk to me like that.'

Raleas grinned despite her struggle to breathe. 'What did you...say to me?'

'Huh?' he said.

'You taught me...father, that the first to lose their temper...loses,' said Raleas. 'Even if they kill their enemy, they still...lost the battle of wits and thus will...lose, again one...day. To let emotion override their judgement...is a weakness...and...and that's just...what you...did.'

'That, that wasn't the...way...of the...officer,' she gasped. 'You...have...lost.'

Then something happened that Raleas had never seen before, something that sent such potent confusion through her, her jaw dropped.

He smiled, then without a word he let her go, and she fell onto her arse, unable to control her legs.

His smile grew into a grin, then he threw back his head and exploded into laughter. Strange, almost psychotic laughter that rang through the church and seemed to turn Raleas' brain into sludge.

She needed to ask what was so funny but she couldn't. Her neck hurt, her throat was on fire, but the pain was nothing compared to her horror. Her horror that the laughter was genuine.

He laughed for what seemed an age, as though he'd pent up decades of mirth and was only letting it out now. When he was finally, finally finished, he looked down at Raleas, grinning like a madman.

'You have passed,' he said.

The church erupted into a hissing sea bemused whispers.

'What?' Raleas managed.

'Did I stutter?' he said. 'You have passed the test, Raleas. You have done well.'

'I-I don't understand.'

'You have proven you have innate officer potential,' he said. 'You have proven you are worthy of being my adjutant. So you may bypass starting as private and having to work your way up the ranks.'

A collective gasp