The Kingfisher

I : Nora

Nora Smairde walked around in a building of the army campgrounds. She was pushed and pulled, quick apologies blurting out of people's mouths as they bumped into her. She didn't bother dodging any bodies, despite her instincts screaming at her to do so. She simply sauntered aimlessly around the room, waiting for her name to be called out.

She was confident she would be chosen. Her forged papers were realistic enough; mostly good grades, some vandalism around the time the war was declared and one previous job as a shop assistant. Not that she needed to seem credible to enter the training corps. The Seyali government was so desperate they would accept virtually everyone. They were losing, and they were short of recruits. Mostly because most of their former ones were six feet underground.

The small room seemed dull under the filtered light of the midday sun. The dry, frigid air had a way of stealing away all the sweet warmth the recruits had produced with the friction of their gloved palms, the rapid bounce of their leg, the loving embrace of a relative. It dragged them out of their safe space, crawling into their sleeves, their breaths, their hearts. And it did them a favor; it took a cold heart for a cold man to do what the candidates were asked to.

A short, chubby man entered the room. Nobody noticed him at first, but eventually, the chaos ceased and everyone looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, evidently nervous to be stared at by dozens of people. He whipped a small piece of paper out of his pocket and started calling out names, beads of sweat forming on his creased forehead like crystal stalactites. Nora crossed her fingers.

"... Ed Teira, Falé Von, Nora Lemmer..."

The moment Nora heard her alias, her hands slackened, and a sigh escaped her lips. She kept her grim face on, though. Nobody must ever look excited about cruising straight to their death. With some hesitant steps forward, she paused at the doorway to glance back at the crowd. Anxious faces littered the room. Some were crying, too. Not everyone had a choice as far as the army was concerned. All men had to serve the country, while some women with strong builds were forced in it as well. Watching these desirous people, she almost felt sorry they would all die for the wrong cause. 

It had been only two years since Flouorn's borders had been allegedly marked by the gods. Seyal's territory had been breached, and so they declared war on the former country. Although it was called the Holy War, it had developed into a conflict based purely on greed for land. Nora knew that very well. But she stayed silent. A soldier, a spy, had no say in the decisions of the higher-ups.

"Move it!" A hand clutched her shoulder and shoved her forward, out of the building. Clearly, these savages knew nothing about good manners.

The gentle breeze brushed Nora's face as it blew past the training grounds. A thin layer of snow covered the ground along with the blood, sweat, and tears all the Seyali soldiers had shed during their training. Gazing at the dull equipment scattered across the yard made her want to whine in protest, to go back to her base and explain that she wasn't ready. She felt like the young, useless girl everyone thought her to be back in Flouorn, and quickly remembered the reason she had dragged herself there in the first place.

Soon, the courtyard was packed with freezing bodies. Nervous chatter filled Nora's ears, a constant buzz in her head. She could only make out some of the wonderful words spoken; 'war', 'death', the list goes on. Definitely not the most optimistic bunch, Nora noted.

Two tall people, a man and a woman, stepped out into the field, their chins high and their faces occupied by smug expressions. The man's black uniform shined in the dim sunlight as he strode forward, examining the crowd meticulously. Nora's fists clenched. Here we go.

"Attention, soldiers!" he called. His voice echoed throughout the half-empty yard, rattling his audience. Some of the younger trainees glanced at each other, thrilled at the thought of actually being useful. Nora could hardly suppress a snort. You're not even soldiers yet; they want to make you feel special, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, loud enough for everyone to understand. People started moving awkwardly, and soon they had formed four clumsy lines. Nora moved behind a tall boy, or rather hid. Better be safe than sorry.