Chương 44: 43 – A Riot

We split apart and ran like our lives were on the line. In a way, they were. In my opinion, everyone deserved the same opportunity to flee the draft we'd gotten if they wanted to.

'Till now, service in the military had been entirely voluntary, and typically quite beneficial. There were, paradoxically, more uncommon talents in the army than common ones, or at least that was what the propaganda fliers said. There was no registry. No accounting of all citizens. In my lifetime, I did think there'd been one census back when the king had a curious whim a few years ago, and wanted to know how life had been impacting the growth of his kingdom in the years since the rift.

Even that had only been a count. No one knew how many eighteen to twenty-five-year-olds were in the village. Not even me! I probably had the best idea of anyone in town, except perhaps the mayor, but even I wasn't sure. As of that census, there had been roughly two hundred people in Pemolar's Hill. We'd grown since then. I'd thought I'd had a good idea of how many of us there were, because I sat at the heart of the area constantly. What I hadn't accounted for was just how many outliers there were.

Some people didn't like the bar; some people had just never met me. There was a lot of land out there, and a lot of people who rarely ever came into town. I'd met at least three families since the incursion had begun that said they'd lived near Pemolar's hill their whole lives, and more besides who'd moved out here to get away from the city. Hermits and folks who just wanted to be left alone. Those types were surprisingly common after the Summer of Bone.

The name people had given to that first summer when the rift swallowed Estermont, and monsters flooded all five nations. That census had been entirely inaccurate. With the Mitoras refugees numbering over two hundred alone, housed as best they could be in spare rooms and tents, and the out-of-towners swelling the population for fear of attacks, not to mention the army camping on the outside edges, I was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic just walking on the street! Two thousand townsfolk. Maybe even three.

Enough that the brigade of soldiers didn't completely overwhelm us. The dirt streets were dry, and all the new feet were constantly kicking up dust. I ran through this strangely changed world, stopping at every house I could think of with newly talented individuals, and began to warn them. All the while, my heart fluttered, adrenaline pumping, wondering when I might get the chance to be alone with Reid again. I put that out of my mind. I needed to focus.

For every local I thought to warn, I met five people who looked like they might be in the right age range. Mitoras refugees, the few folks who'd made their way here from Dolundant, Potato Gully, Claremont, and even a few traders from Denarla who'd been caught in town in the midst of the attacks. Grim faces and a surprising foundation of conviction met me. I met a few people who thanked me profusely, and then beat a hasty retreat. The vast majority were just happy to know, but made no move to flee.

They were as angry as I was, and no less committed to protecting their homes, their parents, and their friends. I was glad for them, and I hoped they didn't condemn my choice to run. Oxana had already decided to volunteer without even knowing about the draft, thinking she'd be of more use in the army than here in town. Teskin, smitten as he was, had volunteered right alongside her. Wolkor's mother had been furious at even the idea that her son might be taken, and it was hard to blame her.

I was a little worried that she'd volunteer in her son's stead. Even so, she thanked me and fled. I didn't bother to warn Everesta and her husband was over the age line. If the army tried to draft a pregnant mother just before giving birth, then we were long since doomed. The people from Mitoras were another story entirely. Many of them were ecstatic at the chance to kill the monsters that had destroyed their town. The few people from Lindolen who had made it this far, even more so.

There was a fire in us lake folks that made me proud every time I saw it. At the same time, I felt profoundly sad. What did Eschal hope to gain from this? Had the years of peace been so terrible? I was certain this wasn't what my uncle had wanted when he'd told me the General intended to make a draft, but until now, the Army had always been voluntary. Sure, it hadn't used to be, but it had been since I was five years old! Suddenly flipping the script and forcing conscription felt… felt… I didn't know.

Some towns had been overrun, and some neighbors had been killed, homes destroyed. Did that mean it was time for us to give up our choice to flee or fight? I didn't think so. Not yet, at least. Not after we'd successfully repelled hundreds of the monsters with only a few deaths right here. Perhaps I'd feel differently if I were a Mitoras refugee. Maybe it was short-sighted. But I knew I was glad to have had the choice. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

My uncle was a good man. I was sweating and ragged, and running on fumes an hour later, feeling like I hadn't even scratched the surface of the sheer number of people I needed to warn, when I heard raised voices. A group of soldiers was surrounding Pretyr's home. The man lived alone, though he'd had a sort of cat-and-mouse flirting relationship with Owinda Orchard for a few years now. Both of them were closer to thirty than twenty, but for some reason, they'd never officially become a couple.

I felt a sinking feeling in my gut when I got closer and heard what they were shouting.

"Come on out of there, Eschal bastard! We know you're in there!"

"Spy!"

"Traitor!"

"Go away!" came a terrified woman's voice. Owinda.

"Pretyr's not a spy! He hasn't lived in Eschal for more than a decade! He's a Tacurian citizen!!" Pretyr had always had a bit of an accent, but that had never mattered before. Suddenly, it mattered a great deal.

"Piss off, Eschal whore!"

"He's a traitor!"

"Kick the door down!" someone called, before I heard a bang. The door held, but it wouldn't for long.

"Oh gods," I breathed, as I approached. I was already out of breath from running halfway around the town.

"What's going on here!?" I asked loudly.

"Run on, Lass!" came an amused shout from an older woman, wearing the military garb of the army, near the back of the troop. We both had to shout to be heard over the jeering and the litany of curses being hurled at the house.

"We're rooting spies out of this town."

"No, you're not! That's Pretyr's home!" I shouted.

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

"We heard all about Pretyr Woodworker. He's from fucking Eschal. A traitor!"

"He's not!" I screamed, drawing the attention of a few more of the men at the back of the crowd. More kicks sounded against the door. The truth was that I didn't know Pretyr very well. I remembered his need bubble had required over a thousand logs. The poor man might've actually managed to cut that many in the past few weeks, clearing out the woods to give a long line of sight from the eastern watchpost. He'd lived in Pemolar's Hill for almost as long as I could remember.

Another kick struck the door, and it burst off its hinges, slamming down into the home. Men poured into the house.

"S-stay back!" I heard Pretyr's voice, before the abrupt sound of fists on flesh met my ears. Was… was this really happening?

"Stop it!" I screamed.

"He's lived here for ten years! He's part of this town!" I ran at the group of soldiers and tried to shoulder my way through the door, but was immediately blocked. The instincts of a group of people used to working in formation, closed ranks, and shoved me back to the dirt on my butt before I could even get a step past the woman.

"Calm down. We ain't gonna kill him. We're bringing him to the general for an interrogation," the woman said.

"If he's innocent, then he'll sort it out." I heard Owinda scream as another grunt echoed out from the doorway, putting lies on the woman's tongue. I glared up at her and got back to my feet, backing away, staring at the scene before me. I… needed to go. I had to get out of here before noon, else I would be drafted. If I interfered here, there'd be no chance of that… … but if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I ran around the house, to the only window it had.

There was a soldier there too, probably positioned to make sure no one escaped while this fucking lynch mob did their work, but he was staring into the house, not paying any attention to me. I pushed him aside and bounded through the window, my small stature allowing me to make the tight squeeze. Your Combat skill has improved! I blinked, surprised at the notification, but I didn't have any time to think about it now.

Two men were holding Pretyr, while Owinda was struggling, held by a third man with her arms behind her back. A fourth was beating him. I ran and leaped, kicking the man in the side, to the shock of both of the soldiers holding the injured man. Pretyr's face was a bloody mess. To my surprise, he only backed up a few feet and didn't even fall to the ground. I did, though, plummeting to the wood floor, between Pretyr and the soldier.

It had barely moved the mountain of a soldier, but it had been enough to stop the beating, at least.

"M-Mera?" Pretyr asked through bloody teeth. He was tasting the name, not certain if it was actually the right one.

"What's the meaning of this!?" the soldier barked.

"I should be asking you that!" I screamed as I stormed to my feet, ignoring the screaming pain lancing up my bound shoulder. Fortunately, I'd landed on the other one.

"What the hell right do you have to break into Pretyr's home!? He's lived here for more than a decade!" I think the sheer surprise of such a young girl getting so angry at them was the only thing that stayed their fury. The moment the man regained his momentum, he'd order his men to hold me aside just like Owinda while the beating continued. I couldn't let that happen.

"Eschal is less than a hundred miles away! Are you going to beat every immigrant from here to the border!? Neighbors and friends? You think this man from this tiny little town had something to do with Eschal's leadership deciding to invade!? Are you fucking insane!?" He growled.

"Mevery! Take this child outside!" Another soldier, a fifth one that I hadn't even seen, suddenly approached from the corner of the room, shocking me. He grabbed for me, and I backed away. Well, so much for not letting him have any momentum.

"This isn't right!" I hissed, reaching to my belt for the only weapon I had.

"He's never hurt anyone!" Pretyr spat blood and looked at me.

"You stupid kid. You're making it worse." I blinked, shocked that he was scolding me.

"B-But!? You're one of us! It doesn't matter where you came from!" Pretyr's need bubble's requirements had certainly diminished, but there was no hint on his face that our bond had grown closer. Instead, he snarled and turned back to the soldier. The man had the insignia of a sergeant, probably two ranks below my uncle. Had… had the general condoned this? Ordered it!?

"Don't hurt the girl. I'll go see your general. Beat me all you want, but leave Owinda and Mera be," he said. I was crying, I realized. Not in pain, but because I was afraid I was going to have to use the pepper pouch on my belt. My hand hovered there. Ready to use the weapon if I had to. The soldier turned between me, Owinda, and the beaten Woodworker before scoffing like this had all been a joke.

"Take all three of them to the general. Bind their hands," he ordered. Somehow, I'd managed to take the fun out of the whole thing. Good. It was a win. The beating had stopped, and for now, that was all that mattered.