FicWad

Chapter One: Soldier Baby

The Zaibach Empire could boast of many things, but its beauty wasn't one of them. Once little more than a wasteland, the harsh infertile swaths of countryside had, in the 200 years since the emperor's coronation, given way to equally harsh infernal cities. A greenish smog hung perpetually over the dreary metallic skyline; all the lights in each metropolis weren't enough to dispel the constant vapors. For natives of the empire, the pollution was just a fact of life, the way the cloud of rumors surrounding the capital-a cloud no less dense than the tangible one-was a fact of life.

Yet for Paxton Jetura, eldest son of a wealthy once-Asturian merchant, the smog was nothing short of a nemesis.

"It's bad today, girl," he coughed into a handkerchief as he attempted to eat his breakfast. His stocky middle-aged frame shook as he gagged on the air drifting in from the stuck-open window, a window he'd previously been too miserly to fix but was now reassessing. "I think you'd better--"

But his niece was already gone. Rephina Caina Jetura (physical age eighteen, mental age twenty-something) sighed heavily as soon as she was out of her uncle's earshot, pulling her long blonde hair into a thick ponytail atop her head as she made her way to the stairs. She was dressed in the sort of lacy frock only the Asturians could dream up, the sword slapping her leg with each confident step canceling out the impression of a noblewoman but ironically accentuating the grace of her walk. By no standards would she have been called a "classic beauty," however; her eyebrows were a bit too thick, her nose a bit too snubbed, her mouth a bit too large for that. Her bright blue eyes were her only arresting feature, yet were only so due to the challenges lurking within. "Try me, I dare you," her every move seemed to beckon. "You won't win." She worked in her uncle's import store, and was an expert haggler. No customer came out paying less than they'd intended to, yet all believed firmly they'd gotten a good deal. And watching them leave would be Rephina, her smiling lips wishing them a good afternoon while her eyes screamed "you idiot" at their retreating backs.

Today, though, dark circles lined those eyes; the challenge daring poor fools to play was a bit less sparkling. She was dead tired, damn frustrated, and thoroughly ashamed of herself.

"It's a miracle he's still letting me work," she growled to herself with a wry grimace, the bells on the door from the stairs to the store tinkling as she yanked it closed. Then, turning, the gargoyle vanished and Rephina the Merchant was in business for the day. "Good morning, ma'am! What can I do for you today?"

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"...but what I want to know, Rephina, is if you saw any Knights Caeli on your trip to Asturia?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, forced an expression of pleasantry to remain plastered on her face. "Actually, yes. We dined at the palace as special guests of Meiden Fassa, and they greeted us as we entered. They were very polite." But rather less so when we left...

"If I were Asturian," the taller of the two recruits she was talking to said to his companion, "I think that's what I'd like to be."

"But there's only twelve! I mean, you're good, but are you that good?"

"Stuff it, Shes!" The taller boy cuffed his friend playfully on the shoulder. "Do you even have to ask?"

"But you'd have to let your hair grow, wouldn't you?" asked the smaller boy, eyeing his fellow soldier's short ash-blond hair skeptically. "My sister went to Asturia once and came back pining for a Caeli she'd seen on guard duty, and he wore his hair to here--" he gestured to his belt level "--if not lower."

Rephina smirked. "Oh, him. Your sister isn't alone in that one, I hear." Honestly, if they hadn't been soldiers-recruits like Ryuon was-she'd have been sorely tempted to kick their sorry behinds out of her store. She had never looked forward to returning home from a trip until this last one, and all everybody who sauntered in wanted to do was hear about it! Ye gods! "Can I interest you in anything today, though? Gatty?" The tall boy shook his head. She pulled a purple box out from under the counter. "Not even...Asturian chocolates?"

"Hiding that isn't fair!" yelped the smaller boy, yet he stared at the sweets hungrily. He poked his friend. "Gatty-please-it's nothing twenty pushups won't work off--"

The taller boy wavered but stood firm, conflicted emotions in open battle across his face.

"Please?" wheedled the small one. "I'll do your latrine duty and--"

"We'll take them." Gatty handed over the money and accepted the box in return. "Thanks, Rephina. Sounds like a great trip."

"You have no idea," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll tell Ryuon you stopped by. Have a nice day."

"Bye, Reph!"

"Bye, Shesta...yes, go, go. Back to camp, back to labor, back to brainwashing central," she added snidely to herself as the door clanged shut behind the pair. A wooden crate, its wares newly unloaded, lay next to her; she kicked it aside and watched with pent satisfaction as it bashed against the side of the counter. "Back to our beautiful army and your dreams of Knights Caeli mindlessly defending ideals more outdated than the poufs of their sleeves. Back to others deciding for you what's important." Kicking the crate had been stupid. She could have broken something if her aim had been off. Save her frustration for sparring with Ryuon when she got home. Her young cousin was every bit as enamored with the so-called Glory of the Empire as those two clowns, but at least he had a head of his own on his shoulders. Not like all the others who stopped by-mere children wanting to get something special for their sweethearts, or to send to their parents, or simply so they could enjoy the precious few hours off every day. Not like all those cherubs the Empire was training to be baby-faced killing machines. Sheep, the lot of them. Bloody patriotic sheep.

"Baa," grumbled Rephina, scowling at her dogged reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. What a messed-up system. Not that Asturia had been any better...she could see how the two countries could be allies, how her uncle could live straddling both worlds. They both blindly followed their idols. In Zaibach, the people worshiped their emperor, with his prophetic visions of an ideal future soon to come. In Asturia, the god was much more commonplace-it clinked in every man's coffer.

"Sorry, Jeture," she told a small marble statue on a shelf to her right. The image of Asturia's sea dragon protector, her grandfather's namesake, stared disapprovingly down as she informed it, "I'm afraid you've been replaced." Stupid, stupid Meiden Fassa! How he'd finally provoked a rise out of her-when she'd been on her best behavior, fearing a trick or three-she still couldn't remember. It had been something to do with his son, the vagabond-Meiden had made some snide comment about how the man wouldn't take orders from anyone, even his own father, and Rephina had jumped to the absent son's defense, much to the shock of everyone present. Her uncle had finally managed to convince Fassa and King Aston that it had been the vino talking, that she'd been out in the sun too long "for a woman", but the younger princess had squirmed all evening whenever Rephina looked at her and the elder had shot her glares that could have frozen lava. What had she said that was so radical? "I like the way he lives his life." Nothing wrong with respecting someone who did what you always wanted to do but couldn't. Nothing wrong with admiring a man who wouldn't let himself be tied down. Whereas she--

Her fingers stroked the supple cover of the red beaded journal she'd bought as a souvenir before the trip had soured. "If I used it to list everything I'm tied to, I'd fill the blasted thing," she grumbled to the Jeture statue. "And I didn't tie myself to any of it. If I'm gonna be tethered, I wanna do it myself."

Jeture didn't have an answer for her. So much for talking to God. Ah, well. Who needed Him anyway? Just another tether line.

The clock chimed closing hour, and Rephina sighed in relief, sagging over the countertop. No last-minute rush. Nothing to keep her here. She was free-for tonight.

"I take it back," she told Jeture before closing up, then hurried home to be with the one tie in her life that she didn't mind personally-her cousin Ryuon.

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"Holy--" Kagero choked on his meat, glasses sliding down his nose as his head jerked forward. Swallowing, he regained his composure. "You're not kidding, she puts a lot of spices on it!"

Ryuon handed his best friend the water pitcher, grinning. "But admit it: it sure beats the tasteless slop we get in the mess hall, right?"

"Goes without saying," the bespectacled boy replied, mouth already full of food. "I wish I had a fussy rich father who forced the army to let me stay in a flat."

"Yes, but do you have a cousin who can cook?" asked Rephina pointedly, her mood as predicted considerably improved. She'd panicked a little when Ryuon had brought company home from the barracks (as for where Kagero was supposed to be, she figured it was better not to ask), but had quickly found herself at ease with the boy. He had a quick mind and a quicker tongue, and wasn't afraid to use either: when asked by Rephina how a boy with less-than-perfect vision had been admitted to the army, he had smiled broadly and replied "I don't need to see my enemy. I'm that good." Some people found such cockiness to be an instant turn-off. It endeared him to Rephina immediately.

"So what's new in the murderer factory?" she asked Ryuon, who knew exactly how she felt about his chosen career and had both the dignity and presence of mind to withstand her taunting. "Any blueprints for world domination?"

Ryuon shook his head, sending his highly styled blonde hair swinging back and forth. "Reph, we don't want things like that. All I want is to be able to defend Zaibach from her enemies."

"He wants to be a spy," Kagero informed her, sawing at his meat with the grace of a novice fiddler. "I heard him asking if there were special training sessions he needed to enroll in."

"Ryu, you didn't!" She put down her fork and stared at him. "With your father a merchant? Are you crazy?" But a voice in the back of her head murmured: Good for you, Ryuon...if it's really what you want.

"The correct term," Ryuon replied loftily, "is 'communications specialist.' That is, the enemy communicates, and I specialize in finding out. And actually," his tone grew a bit more sober, though still lively, "I did hear one piece of news I found interesting. You know the misunderstanding along the Ezgardian border? Where they thought we were going to invade--"

"I know," Rephina assured him. Really, the story made her sick. According to Zaibach messengers, Ezgardia had assumed the military buildup along their border with the Empire had signified a possible invasion and launched a disastrous pre-emptive strike-disastrous, htat was, for the Ezgardian army. The squad that had been sent was completely wiped out, with even their general among the fallen. While the empire mourned the tragic understanding and the troops had fallen back, an undercurrent of pride at a job well done had so permeated the story that some citizens had forgotten what they were supposed to be sad about. In Rephina's eyes the affair was an absolute debacle-not only for the loss of life but also for the sheer idiotic stupidity of it all. Baa-baa, say the sheep with swords, and down they fall. Stupid Ezgardia.

"Well, anyway," Ryuon continued, unabashed by his cousin's interruption, "they say the soldier who beheaded the general has been ordered back here to the training center. Nobody will say if he's being rewarded or punished, but apparently he's young. Real young."

"Which in terms the world understands is--?" asked Kagero. Apparently he didn't possess the same connections as his aspiring "communications specialist" friend.

"Fourteen." Ryuon sipped his water calmly as Rephina and Kagero turned to him in shock, Kagero wiping up a spill he'd created upon hearing the age.

"Does Soldier Baby have a name?" he asked with all the sagacity the one-year age difference bestowed. "And how'd he get in? You aren't adult and eligible for recruitment until fifteen, let alone seeing actual combat!"

Ryuon attacked his spiced meat with his fork. "I heard it but don't remember. Some godawful unpronounceable thing. Ended in a 'u,' I think."

"Yeah, you'll make a great spy," Rephina drawled, standing and taking her empty plate to the kitchen. "Hurry up, doppelganger. If we're going to spar tonight I want to do it sometime before it gets pitch black." It was an expression. Nowhere on Zaibach was it ever completely dark.

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Rephina knew something was wrong when she woke up and couldn't hear noise coming from Ryuon's room. Kagero hadn't returned to the barracks until late the previous night; she didn't envy where he stood at all. Who knew what they'd do to him?...but it had been his decision. She was determined to be completely impassive to the issue-unless he got Ryuon involved, in which case she'd punch Kagero's four-eyed face in. Then she'd see how good he really was without his glasses. Hopefully, though, her Fist of Vengeance wouldn't need to be unleashed. She liked the kid.

So Ryuon had been up later than was probably good for him. Ugh, she thought, body wound in her sheets and gazing blearily at the ceiling, if he's still asleep in there I'm gonna--

Wait. What time was it? Blinking until her eyes swam into focus, she turned her head to the clock on her bedside stand.

Holy Jeture. Ryuon wasn't the late one. She was. Curse him! Why hadn't he woken her up? She was going to be late for work-already was, as a matter of fact. Had she really looked like she needed sleep that badly?

Remembering her face in the shop mirror as she stumbled towards the kitchen, Rephina groaned. It had been a stupid question, anyway.

Something was wrong in the kitchen, too; despite the fact that Ryuon had very kindly left his breakfast dishes for his cousin to wash, the area still looked too damn clean. What was missing?

She groaned again. Gods, was she going to be a favorite with Uncle Paxton today. Not only was she so late as to not even be considered "fashionable", his precious son-the son for whom he set aside his otherwise miserly standards-had rushed off to Soldierland without packing himself a lunch. That shouldn't have been a problem for any sane person-after all, the rest of the soldiers were provided lunch-but Rephina wasn't convinced of her uncle and employer's sanity. "No son of MINE will eat that swill!" Paxton Jetura had declared after breaking bread with the army once, and yet another "agreement" had been reached between the merchant and the military. She'd often wondered why they hadn't kicked Ryuon out or refused his father's demands. They must have really needed the money.

"Army of Zaibach Broke," she muttered to herself, the imaginary headline scrolling through her mind as she rushed back to her room and yanked on pants, a tunic, and boots-while normally dresses were fine with her, she didn't feel very ladylike today. "Currently Dependent on Funds from Half-Asturian Madman with Pampered Son." She debated adding "and Overworked Niece" but struck it from the draft; on normal days she rather liked her job, enjoyed the battle of wits that came with haggling and loved the travel opportunities restocking provided. Meiden Fassa's shadow was still haunting her, that was all. If Rephina ever met the benighted son, she wasn't sure if she'd hug him or run him through. He certainly was causing her a lot of trouble-and she'd never met the man.

"I need a hobby," she decided as she packed Ryuon a very hasty and not necessarily gourmet lunch; she was angry at him, after all. "I brood too much."

Ironically, debating this train of thought occupied her all the way to the army's training grounds just outside the capital, at which point she made a very unpleasant discovery.

Her day was about to get a lot worse. She was lost.

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"They must lose a lot of sheep in this place." She looked for a clock on the wall and was half-relieved not to see one. "It's signed very poorly."

Rephina didn't know how long she'd been wandering the halls of Army HQ looking for the barracks, but she was astonished no one had stopped her yet. After passing a desk in the front entrance, being patted down, and surrendering her sword, she'd been directed into a hallway leading to another leading to a veritable labyrinth. She wondered if they had security shadowgraphers installed, and if the soldiers on duty were laughing at her. Let them laugh. Someone at least ought to have a good day.

But she wasn't so defeated that she was willing to knock on doors and ask for directions. Her own idiocy had let her into this knot, and it was going to get her out. Sorry if your lunch will be late, Ryuon. Pack your own next time...

You're only eighteen, she reminded herself, leaning against a wall. You can't do it all.

So why does everyone expect me to?

"...One would not expect a fourteen-year-old to be capable of such a magnificent feat."

No, eighteen, Rephina thought crossly before realizing the voice was coming from the other side of the wall. Ye gods, the wall was a door, and there were people on the other side of it!

"You honor me by your praise, Magician."

And not just any people, she was willing to bet. She'd heard "fourteen-year-old" before. Kagero's "Soldier Baby" was in there, meeting with whoever he was...Magician? There was a Magician in there?

Rephina's brain said "run." The rest of her pressed her ear against the door and listened more closely. Maybe this would humble Ryuon properly, the would-be spy bested by his cousin...plus Soldier Baby's voice intrigued her. Low, yet childish, with a music to it she'd never heard before. Yes, this would be worth hearing.

"As I am now the emperor's direct subordinate strategist..." the Magician's deep voice was saying; Rephina's heart thudded at the thought of someone that important being so close despite herself "...Dilandau, per Dornkirk's imperial decree, a special forces unit will be formed under your command." Dilandau? Ryuon, please. It wasn't that hard a name to pronounce. "Personnel selection will be left to you..."

"Are you mad, Strategos?" flared a third voice. "The boy is good, I'll grant you that, but the responsibility..."

"I'm standing right here," drawled the soldier in question lazily. "You have a problem, General? Take it up with me."

"General Adelphos, I'm sure an agreement can be reached..." began the Magician.

"I'm not questioning the emperor!" protested the head of the Red Copper Army. "Heaven forfend that. I have faith in him. But Dilandau Albatou...your actions, while brave and glorious for Zaibach, went against your commanding officer's orders. How can we be certain you won't rebel again?"

"Oh, Emperor Dornkirk took care of that," replied the voice easily; she could tell from his tone he was smiling. A merchant's smile: I won. "He made me the commanding officer. Hard to rebel from there, isn't it?" A pause, and what might have been a sputter from the general, then the marvelous fluid voice said, "Thanks again, Strategos. Now, where's the barracks? I need to pick my men." A light but definite emphasis was placed on the word "my".

"Just through that door to your right," the Magician called Strategos instructed, and Rephina scrambled away from the door as quickly as she could, back flattened against the opposite wall. She couldn't believe going to the barracks could be that easy after all the wandering around she'd done, knew she really should give it a try before she came face-to-face with three of the most important people in the Zaibach military and thus the empire itself, but...she had to know. What did Soldier Baby-real name Dilandau Albatou-look like?

The door slid open. Three men blinked in shocked surprise at her, a young woman in civilian's clothes clutching a luncheon bag close to herself in the halls of a Zaibach Army bastion. Three different sets of suspicions were instantly formed.

Rephina realized neither how suspicious nor out-of-place she looked. The paragon of everything she'd ever wanted to be-of self-reliance, of disregard for tradition, of willful madness and irreverence-stood only a hall's breadth away. In hushed awe at the creature before her, her heart stopped. Her mind began composing frantic letters, for she was certain she could not speak; they all began Dear Perfection...

Rephina Caina Jetura, physical age eighteen. Mental age twenty-something. Emotional age...twelve or so.

With only one look, she was in way over her head.

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