The Wielder of Death Magic

“Speak,” added granny, “-I said I’m poor of hearing. Do this old lady the favor of speaking up when something bothers.”

“I apologize for my rudeness,” she straightened her back, firmed her stance upon the chair facing granny, “-I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I don’t mind interjections,” came a wrinkled smile, “-tell me, little one, what do you want me to retell?”

“My questions about the war, could you clarify this particular section,” a holographic display lit, reading a timeline. Granny lifted her chin and squared the text, “-oh, I see,” came an understanding cheer, “-days leading up to the army’s invasion,” her older frame pushed, her posture straightened, or tried – much anguish was felt through the wrinkles. “I was getting to that part,” she settled with a triumphant exhale, “-the Revolutionist army, they called themselves the sons of God, was a tiring bunch. On one hand, some preached righteousness in whatever damned definition of the word they choose, fanatics really, and on the other, assholes. Pure and unfiltered waste of space. They were cruel, especially to the men and younger boys. Lashes to the back and heart-tearing screams went for nights and days. I mentioned death marches earlier. Before the Hidrosian army arrived, death walks from around the province would end or pass through here. South of the village lays a massive burial ground. The executed, the diseased, and the wounded – all of them were thrown, left to be ravaged by wildlife. My daughter was taken, and her body was found at my neighbor’s place. She was beaten, possibly abused, then disembowel and thrown with her gut hanging out of her stomach. I remember the day like it was yesterday, the memory is etched in my heart. What pains me the most was... was... she was pregnant. They cut her... threw the babe across the village... a show of strength they said, a show of power they proclaimed, an offering to the gods they justified...” tears slowly strolled down the visage passing drain-like wrinkles, hitting her dress and marking the spot black. There was no voice, nothing remotely close to pain or suffering, only silence served as a secret healer. Stephanie reached forward with an embrace. Granny’s silent tears poured, her mien, resolute to not break, solidified – though, Stephanie couldn’t hold her own emotions. Whimpers escaped, and they hugged.

“Don’t cry,” added granny, patting Stephanie’s as if to console her heart, “-you don’t have to cry for my sake,” she took the reporter’s warm cheeks and wiped the tears, “-I don’t cry, I can’t cry. I won’t give them the satisfaction, I won’t let them break me, I won’t.”

The assistant gestured, “-let’s take a break,” he offered.

.....

“No, no, please,” came harsh sniffles, “-I want to hear, I want to know.” The man simply shrugged with an understanding nod.

“You asked about the girls sitting on the porch, yes?”

Stephanie nodded silently, “-well, it was per the commanding officer’s order. To put food on the table meant working for the army. We couldn’t get out of the village – the perimeter was strongly guarded since it was close to the frontlines. Strolling a few meters from the village center was reason enough to be killed. There were rations – the stale remains from an already famished army. When food ran low, the army looted – and when we had nothing more to give, they took what they wanted. To cull the herd, they said... those bastards. What could we have done? One of the families, a disgraced noble family that fled after the empire collapsed, was sheltered at the villager leader’s mansion. When the army first arrived – the family didn’t say a lot, they were friendly and engaging, especially the youngest of the three. The father was a veteran, he soon dazzled the village with feats of magic. Clandestine practice is banned, and when the army came knocking after the looting passed and food grew scares, they stormed the manor. The father stood up for our sakes... it ended with laughter and dismissal from the army. Orders were not to harm any nobles. So much for keeping to their word – they took younger folks, forced some into slavery, and sent others to imprisonment camps. Sadly, an incident involving a young recruit and his forceful attitude toward the noble’s daughters was grounds for the man to take action. He instantly grabbed his weapon and stormed into the barracks demanding the young man’s apology. It didn’t end well; it never ends well. I watched as they threw him to his knees and executed him in front of the whole village. They publicly took the family and made them an example. If we showed cooperation and respect, they wouldn’t be cruel... we had to accept, what were hungry peasants to do. So, our days of torture began... the place I had come to call home was attacked relentlessly – gunfire, some at enemies’ others at my fellow villagers, didn’t take long for many to take their own lives. Those not wanting to be ravaged by the lustful soldiers took it upon themselves to slice their nose and throw it at their attackers... it worked, few were left alone, however, the truly depraved casually threw bags over the bleeding heads and proceeded anyways. You can’t imagine the pain and suffering a constant aura of fear loomed over our heads, I prayed with all my might for heaven’s intervention. I prayed day and night, asking for the blessings of Fenrir, the holy wolf, patron goddess of my clan; she would send me dreams, and hope, saying salvation would come to those who demanded so. It did come when an explosion rattled the whole village. I rushed to my windows that day, I thought something grave had happened. More than anything, I was worried about the orphans left in my care. I peered and saw a giant mushroom cloud in the direction of another stronghold. I don’t know the details, the place was southeast of here, possibly a major facility. Another, bigger more powerful explosion echoed seconds later, the shockwave threw me off balance and I fell. Helicopters swarmed the area. Gunfire rained; I pulled the children close to my chest. Confused Revolutionist soldiers kicked in my door and pointed their guns, I thought I was dead,” she paused and gulped, “-two muffled shots and the attackers fell. Men and women dressed in black uniforms stormed my house, “-we’re from the Hidrosian Army, the Revolutionist army’s oppression will be liberated.” Those words answered my prayer. It took them minutes to clear out an army that had pressed us for more than a year. We were weary still; another army meant more trouble. Surviving villagers were gathered at the village leaders’ manor. We waited for night and then day, the door opened loudly-”

“Greetings people of Jinhe, I represent the allied Hidrosian army. I apologize for the wait and rough treatment. Measures had to be taken to ensure safety. As we speak, a multi-layered operation is underway to capture the eastern frontier. Rest assured, we will uphold our duties and provide a haven for noncombatants.”

“-Understand, words alone wouldn’t have meant anything. They, instead of talking, showed us outside. A rationing station was organized. The wounded healed, the famished fed, and the feared relieved. Some scars couldn’t be healed. Especially the abused – they simply chose to remain in the village and sit outside their homes expecting a graver situation. The children were taken to an orphanage in Elendor. Those who wanted to take up arms were welcomed. I became the mediator between troubled refugees and army men. It takes time, and here, I can finally say, my job is done. This army has been nothing but grand. They indulged our requests to the best of their abilities. Many of them share their cafeteria, and victims of war get to experience the greater world – to see television shows, listen to music, and watch live broadcasts, to us, those things are foreign, alien. Even in times of peace with the emperor at the helm – access to such distractions was shunned.”

Two loud taps came with, “-is the interview over?”

“Yes,” said granny, “-I have said my piece,” she leaned over for another sip, “-Stephanie, thank you for hearing out an old lady. I can sleep easy,” she smiled, “-good luck on your journey. It will be hard, but the world deserves to know the harsh reality.”

“I will, thank you, granny, for your time and patience.”

They exited, officer Charles exchanged a few pleasantries and thus led the crew outside. A short uneventful promenade arrived on a clearing southward. The gradual curvature of the hills and meadows was washed by the torrent of warfare. Remnants of trucks and exploded tanks – burnt pastures and bullet holes. A tinge of gunpower hung, “-what did granny tell you?”

“A lot of things,” she replied, “-a lot of sad things. Is the war that bad?”

“It’s more than bad, it’s hell,” came a sharp and resolute response. With the camera aiming at the officer, he shifted sideways, “-Stephanie, as I’m a man of frankness, here is my honest opinion; you’re not welcomed.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve had our fair share of reporters and war-time photographers. Some were bad apples, they published rather disgusting imagery that could end in my prison time if done back home. We don’t take to reporters. The stories our soldiers share are theirs alone to share, and if they don’t want the world to know, they have a right to say stop. I don’t abide by those who’d willingly rub salt in an open wound. Tell me, would you agree?”

“What happened to those reporters, nothing’s come over the Arcanum or media source.”

The officer simply stared at the withered flora, “-there are answers best left to the imagination. As an affiliate of Phantom, we’re duty bound to obey higher command. Exercise the utmost respect and diligence in the quest for answers.”

“Sorry about the bad apples,” she stepped, “-my duty is to report and share, I won’t back down easily.”

He frowned.

“However,” a rise of the index stopped the aggression, “-I will not trouble those who don’t want to relay their stories. Tell me about Granny, she was very absent-minded on topics related to her.”

“Ah,” he lit, “-granny is our beacon of light. Her help was tremendous in bringing the villagers in order. Without her help, bedlam. Her past is muddy, we did hear stories from others and I’m sure she’s relayed those already. Granny is very wise, don’t let her appearance deceive.”

“Officer Charles, please tell me about yourself.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I want to know more about you, what is the army doing to help the situation?”

“Very little,” he added, “-our focus is on saving ourselves first. Little help is granted to the refugees. We don’t abuse nor neglect – we provide basic necessities and allow a trade to areas in our control. Making sure they feel in charge of their fate is the way forward. Such were the orders by General Minerva. Day has begun. Stephanie, a tent has been prepared, I ought to attend to my duties.” They parted ways, and the reporter found herself in the middle of the refugee camp. Whole families had settled, patrolling officers sternly watched their duties – the children hid, the rumbustious ran to the ire of their guardians.

Much footage was taken, photos as well. “-I can’t believe this,” gasped the cameraman, “-people are living in such harsh conditions... and to imagine it was worse when the Revolutionist army occupied. What must have gone through their heads when a stranger suddenly attacked.”

“Don’t think about it,” came a present Stephanie, “-we need to do them justice.”

The veil parted, “-excuse me,” said a little boy, “-are you the reporter?”

“Yes, why are you here?”

“To tell you my story,” came a blank gaze, “-about how I was treated.” Grave Reality of War was about to get its most haunting chapter delivered by the mouth of an innocent child. Stephanie’s heart sank, as did the crew – a collective inhale followed, “-okay.”