Chapter 2: 2 - Guardians

The palace had been well equipped with washrooms, and with the gore of battle scrubbed from her body Callida was able to enjoy a solid night’s sleep spent in a proper bed in the palace. The next morning, she found an odd satisfaction donning a fresh uniform and actually doing her hair and makeup for the first time in literally a year. She felt like a different person — a shiny new Istiri– and there was relief in the option to indulge in the whimsical again. Her half-up, wavy golden hair fell in sleek rivers to her waist, a striking focal-point for an otherwise unexceptional-looking, androgynous young woman of twenty-five.

It seemed fitting that her most notable feature was also the one element of her appearance that merged the traits of her mixed heritage. Most lions were born with wild, crimpy, dirty-blonde manes, but Callida was only half lion. Her other half was wolf — the half that her animal spirit took after. Wolves were generally blessed with silky, straight, black hair, a silkiness that had tempered her lion’s mane in the random shuffle of genetics and somehow made the golden color of her hair less murky — which didn’t make sense when she thought about it, but when did genetics ever make perfect sense?

The rest of her appearance was marred by countless scars earned over the last two decades from encounters with both man and beast. Her two most distinctive scars were the floral brands running down both sides of her body from behind her ears to her ankles and then back up the insides of her legs, earned during a week of torture, and a single, thin, white dueling scar through her left cheek and eyebrow from a fight when she was ten years old. She’d started young — the benefit (or perhaps curse?) of being born into a family of generational soldiers on both sides, a family of which she was the last remaining living member.

“Animo, have you finished negotiations already?!” Arum’s surprised voice met her near the front doors of the palace.

“Oh. Uh… I’m… waiting,” Callida shrugged vaguely.

“Stalling or psychological warfare?” Arum smirked.

“Um…. Yes?” The friends looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment before Arum found a change of subject to break it.

“General, I got a report from the camp this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Supply caravan came in.”

“Oh?!”

“My understanding is that the mail alone burdened nearly a dozen carts.”

“Well, let’s go!!” Callida said, her mannerisms more akin to an excited puppy than a hardened military general, and Arum grinned, enjoying this side of her and not putting up any sort of fight as she eagerly dragged him out the door. “We’ll have to get the mail sorted and passed out, and then trade out Rapax and his men so they can collect their mail too. Oh, it’s been forever!!”

It was a lengthy walk as they led their battle-worn horses behind them through the eerily quiet city streets. Grypa Kardia was dense and would normally be bustling with life this time in the morning without the threat of a hostile takeover looming over it. The structures here were built from a pale gray and beige granite on and around rolling hills upon the tallest of which the palace sprawled and towered austerely over its subjects. From the outside, the palace looked like the fodder of fairy tales, but like most things with a fairy tale appearance, it was internally corrupted by malcontent and human weaknesses.

The second tallest hill in the city was burdened by another monstrous structure, the symbolism meticulously chiseled into the stone an indication of the building’s monastic purposes — a temple to the ancient Primordial Spirits. Most tribes had at least one such temple, often constructing them in more remote locations to favor transcendence above the mundane. To have such a massive temple built in the heart of the tribe’s capital city, Callida had to wonder which ancient griffin king’s crisis of conscience this temple was the product of. With the temple casting long shadows as a backdrop, it made sense to see Guardians in their pious garb wandering the otherwise abandoned streets below.

Her own interest in Primordialism had always been unfocused and fleeting. It was more peripheral awareness than interest, and she’d never stepped foot inside a temple before. It felt odd and illogical to pray to a bunch of dead animals for things like a bounteous crop or the providential meeting of a new lover.

“Miss!” Callida’s private musings about temples and prayer were interrupted by the urgent approach of a woman, perhaps in her early thirties, in Guardian’s garb — a plain tunic over simple pants or a skirt with a dark cloak, sometimes embroidered with a symbol of their religious order over the left breast, sweeping behind them. “Miss! A moment!” The confusion on her face must have been unmistakable for the Guardian answered the unspoken question with “yes, you!”

“Yes?”

The Guardian was staring up at her face, and Callida had to wonder why she’d been singled out. However, Callida accepted the silent observation and returned it. The Guardian was beautiful with short, platinum blonde hair, striking, dark eyes, and pale, plump, and perfectly clear skin. Callida took in the way her tunic failed to hide the ideal combination of a slender frame with ample curves, noting the curious patch on this Guardian’s cloak of a thin dagger slowly being choked by a vine of thorned roses. “You have a very… unusual aura.”

“Thank you?” Callida frowned and moved to walk away.

“Wait!” The Guardian raised an arm to block Callida’s path. “You should visit the temple.”

Callida laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, uh, no thank you. I’m not really into that sort of thing.” A second effort to walk away was similarly blocked, and Callida began to feel irritated. “Excuse me, please.”

“General Yudha, you must come to the temple.”

“How do you know my name?” Callida asked, eyes narrowed.

“Many things are revealed in the temple,” the Guardian said with a crooked grin. “That, and it’s hard to mistake the five stars on your Lion Tribe uniform.”

Callida provided the obligatory chuckle. “Excuse me.”

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“Will I see you at the temple?”

“Don’t count on it. Like I already said, it’s not really my thing.”

“And what is your ‘thing’?” the Guardian pressed.

Callida paused long enough to meet the Guardian’s eyes, her own hardening. “I kill people for a living. I’d think that you’d want to keep me out of your sanctuary, not invite me in.”

“Our temple is for all — creators and destroyers alike. Perhaps you should consider a new ‘thing’ if this one makes you feel unworthy,” the Guardian suggested almost coyly, but at long last, she stepped aside, allowing Callida to pass. “May the Primordials bless you until our next encounter, General. I’m certain that we will meet again.”

“That was weird,” Arum remarked in a whisper, and Callida nodded, a scowl darkening her already deep-set, caramel brown eyes. Reflecting on the interaction as she walked away, Callida was left feeling creeped out and evermore determined to never set foot inside a temple, but that was neither here nor there. She quickly brushed off the exchange in favor of happy thoughts and the prospect of letters from home.

Escaping the city boundaries, Callida and Arum were quickly enveloped into the Lion Tribe military camp, and Commander Moro, another of her men from her first command assignment, was already prepared to deliver a sizable fistful of letters to Callida as soon as she asked for them.

“General, the men are preparing a victory feast this evening,” Moro informed her. “I know they were hoping you’d be there. ‘Nothing elaborate: just normal rations with some musical entertainment and a drink to make a few toasts with.” Callida was distractedly flicking through her stack of letters, disappointment merging with annoyance as nearly every letter was penned with the same effortless calligraphy — reports in which business would be mingled with personal updates from His Majesty, the Lion King, Verum Rex — the same bitter feelings instantly erased and reversed upon finding a single envelope inked in a particular, scrawly hand near the bottom. “General?”

“Huh?”

“What should I tell the men?” Moro prompted.

“About…?”

“Tonight?”

“Oh…. Oh! ‘Sounds good. Yes, I’ll be there,” she fumbled, and Moro snorted.

“Very good, General.”

“Mhm,” Callida hummed, back to being distracted. “Thanks, Moro. I’ll be in my tent if you need anything.”

“Where’s my stack of letters?” Callida could hear Arum pouting in a half-serious tease as she left.

In her tent, Callida curled up on her bedroll and greedily tore open the letter with scrawly penmanship from Qiangde Yudha, suddenly feeling the pain of separation sharpen. It had been ten months now? Eleven? Primordials, war steals everything.

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My Lady,

I never know what to write in these letters. I feel like I say that every time I start one of these, but the supply train leaves tomorrow, so I guess I’d better figure out something to write, or I know that I’ll never hear the end of it.

I still have no idea how to handle the nobility here. I regularly get the odd visitor thinking that making friends with the Lion General’s husband in your absence will earn them points in some obscure game they’ve invented. They usually leave unfulfilled because I have no idea what to talk about. Maybe that’s for the best. It discourages them from trying again at least. I almost never get the same visitor twice.

Porro is getting tired of me as the subject of his creativity. He’s been showing me more and more sketches of things he’s dreamed up for you, trying to get my opinion. He tried showing me this one sketch in particular that was, frankly, scandalous, and then laughed when I said as much. He then told me about this one time that you went to a party practically naked? Is it true that you went to some fancy ball in little more than body paint?! I’m not sure how to feel about that, Callida. On the one hand, I don’t think I’m okay with you dressing like that for other people. On the other hand, I can’t believe I missed that!!

Primordials, I miss you, speaking of missing things. I’m not cut out for this. I guess that’s a layered statement. I’m missing you like crazy, and I don’t know what to do with myself in this big, drafty house mostly all by myself. Shyaam is losing his mind, and I’m right behind him. Remind me why I couldn’t come with you? I know how to fight! Or, better yet, I’m a doctor! You need doctors on a battlefield, right? And I’d feel so much better being in a position to patch you up rather than waiting to hear from you to confirm that you’re not dead yet. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Please tell me you’re close? Please tell me you’re coming home soon? Callida, if you miss our two year anniversary, I might just come hunt you down. You already missed our first anniversary, and I still haven’t forgiven you for that.

Stay safe if you can possibly help it. I will never forgive you if you die out there. And I’ve lost track of how many kisses you owe me. One for every time I miss you? Yeah, we’re easily in the gazillions by now. When you get back here, I’m going to kiss you until your lips bleed, and I’m not even going to apologize for it. You’ve been warned.

Rogue

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Callida tilted her head back onto a folded blanket with the letter held to her heart, letting herself cry with the wonderfully mixed bag of emotions these letters always came with. His letters were never very long, nor did they tell her very much about how things were going back in Astu Centralis, the capital of the Lion Tribe. But they sounded like him, and just for a moment, Callida could close her eyes and hear his voice in her head telling her about the annoying social habits of the Lion Tribe nobility that he was still very new to, or the teasing “threat” to kiss her until her lips bled that really just underscored how much he missed and loved her, or the way Shyaam, his rogue Alpha wolf spirit for which he’d been nicknamed “Rogue”, was losing his mind surrounded by people but without a pack. Callida felt that. Her own wolf, Goldie, named for the color of her essence that matched Callida’s own hair, was struggling in a similar way: surrounded by soldiers, only a select handful of them friends, none of them Rogue.

They’d been married for just under a year before duty had called her away, or rather, the threat of an invasion force instructed to destroy civilian targets as a standard practice on their march through the Lion Tribe proved to be all too real. She’d never seen Rogue so angry before — so angry and so defeated. He’d begged to come with her, but Callida knew that letting him come would be dangerous for both of them. She’d already learned the hard way how easily she was emotionally compromised when someone she loved was nearby, and that was a distraction that she simply couldn’t afford on this campaign. So she’d left him behind. There was no question in her mind that she’d made the right decision, but she also couldn’t help but regret that choice — especially in moments like these, moments when her heart ached to hear his voice for real.

“General?”

Hastily wiping her face dry, Callida sat up to see Moro poking his head through her tent door. “Yes, what is it, Commander?”

“General, we’ve received an urgent communication from Commander Rapax.” Callida frowned but quickly found her feet and took the report, tearing it open to find the note smudged red.

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General, I’m not sure what your intended play was, but one of the men you were trying to negotiate with is dead, and the other two are wounded. The medic I’m sitting next to is telling me that the two breathing ones might not be alive for long. You need to get here quickly. This is either evil genius on your part or seriously messed up. –Rapax

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Callida sighed heavily. “So they took the bait…. ‘Seriously messed up, definitely.”

“Sorry?” Moro frowned at her.

“It’s nothing important, Commander. Well, it is, but it isn’t. I need to return to the palace immediately.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh,” she sighed. “Yes. Negotiations with the Griffin Tribe just got a lot simpler.”