Chapter 82

Aren

A Legacy of War

Aren approached the compound, her small bundle clinging tightly to her chest. Occasionally, Aren had to stop, to check if the child was still alive. Fortunately, despite the constant speed, and everything that had happened the child was alive. Better still the child was asleep.

Aren looked down at the small bundle within her arms and almost let out a laugh as she saw the slumbering form of the child. A child found from the ashes of a city burnt to the ground. A child who had others sacrifice themselves for her, so that she might live. A child whose survival was more important that her initial mission. A mission handed down by her majesty herself.

Now staring at the gates to the compound that looked out of place and overrun by the forest, Aren couldn’t help but pause. As she stared at the gates, she remembered her own first memory. Her first memories being of the time she was dropped off here, herself.

Looking down at the slumbering bundle in her arms, Aren couldn’t help but wonder if a similar future awaited her. For her part Aren didn’t even know the name of the child, though she already felt an attachment to the child. It was nearly impossible not to feel some form of attachment to the child, as she had inadvertently had a same origin story as herself. A child of war, brought to the commune for no other reason than there was no one left who could take care of her.

Idly Aren wondered if the person who brought her in kept in touch. There had been many who would check in on her over the years, but no one made it clear that they were the ones who brought her. Aren was certain such events were documented somewhere, but those records were hidden.

Now standing before the gates, Aren couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and relief for being here. After she walked through these gates this child would be taken care of, she would be brought into the fold and treated as a regular child. The only problem, after this point this child would not be allowed direct contact with Aren. She would not be able to know Aren was the one who brought her in. Aren could view the child from afar, get details of her progress, but only from a distance. This was a harsh life, but the only one the order could afford. If they grew too close, attachments might rise. Attachments caused confusion on missions, caused controversy. From this point on this child, whatever name was given to her, would be a member of the order.

Aren could of course give the child to a family. She could turn back now and find a quiet village with people who were nowhere near the war and leave the child there. But such places were hard to find. Worse Abberty Village, her original home was once thought to be such a refuge. No this was the right spot, it had to be. This child would be given a chance here, a chance to grow, learn, and improve.

So why was she so hesitant? Was it the innate want of her own? To have a child of her own. Could she adopt the child herself? Leave the child here during missions, only to come back and take over training as needed? Could she do such a thing? Would such a life be fair to her?

So many thoughts ran through her mind, but ultimately only one course of action mattered. Steeling her mind and making mechanical movements, Aren forged her way forward.

Screech.

The rusted iron gates creaked open, causing the baby within her arms to stir, and let out a soft cry.

“Easy little one.” Aren said locking eyes with the baby who had awoken. Their eyes met, and the baby felt instant relief from their brief interaction. She was so relieved that she managed to fall asleep almost instantly. That moment alone would have been enough for a younger version of herself to stop, to give up on the correct course. It was only after her body continued going forward on its own that Aren realized why it took so long for training with an experienced partner. Why it took so long for junior members to be allowed to go out on their own.

Aren, when she was younger would have baulked at the task before her. She would have hidden away and tried to create her own roots to protect the child. But such a life was impractical, both for the child and for her.

Shaking her head slightly she made her way to the reception area. The old woman on duty saw Aren come in with a bundle in her arms.

“A legacy of war.” Aren said, her eyes solemn and her voice nearly cracking as she spoke the timeless phrase. A phrase that everyone in the order was taught. For everyone in the order was in their own way a legacy of war. Given the shape of the world, and how many different governments were always in power, each vying for limited power and even more limited resources, war was inevitable.

Even their own kids, should any wish to have kids would be raised in much the same way, as a legacy of war. This kept infighting down, and nepotism to a minimum. At least that was what many were taught.

The old woman, for her part, immediately began pulling out a few items that were hidden under the table for such an event. In a matter of seconds soft bedding, a pillow and a fresh blanket were placed out. Finally, a bed was available, and next came the most difficult part of the whole event, at least as far as Aren was concerned.

Holding in a deep breath, she braced herself as she began to lower the bundle into the splayed-out bundle before her. As she lowered the child, she felt many different strands of energy and fate being broken off and severed. At least that is what she imagined in her mind. She felt cruel dropping the child off, but it was the best she could offer the child.

“WAHH!” The child suddenly feeling the coldness of the world awoke screaming.

Aren’s initial instincts were to snatch the child up and help the child relax once more. Seeing the look of strain on Aren’s face, the greeter held up a hand as she gently moved into to take the child. For a second the child relaxed, until she opened her eyes and saw that it was not Aren who held her.

“WWAAHHH!” The child yelled even louder if such an event was possible. Aren looked on with surprise, half expecting the child to be mute after their long travels together. The child had not made a sound the entire time she knew her, even the trip through the wilder lands were blissfully quiet. But now the child was awake, aware, and seemingly ready to make up for lost moments of being quiet.

Aren went to reach for the child, knowing that a few seconds within her arms would cause the child to relax, to sleep once more. Seeing the arms moving forward, the old woman turned her back on Aren. Seeing the act, Aren turned her attention from the crying child to the old woman.

“Go, I’ve got this.” The old greeter said.

With those words, a part of Aren’s heart shattered. This was the way. This was the way of her people. This was the only way the Order could survive generation after generation. Realistically she knew she had to walk away, to leave the child who had so enraptured her heart. But she faltered.

For a second, she wanted to renounce the order, renounce the help, take the child, and run. The thought was there, if only for a moment. But finally, after a long second Aren let out a slow defeated breath and left.

She left the room, exited the doorway, and immediately collapsed against the wall. That was as far as she could go, as far as her legs would take her. For an hour, she heard the old watcher dance and shake the child. She even tried to feed the child, but nothing worked for close to an hour.

Finally, after who knew how long the child was exhausted from crying for so long and finally passed out. Only once the crying stopped could Aren move her legs. She made it a goal to never look upon the child again. She had been lucky, she managed to walk away once, but she didn’t think she would be powerful enough to walk away again. Even as she walked away, she could feel the invisible strands of energy that bound her and the child.

Suddenly stuck in the walls that Aren knew all too well, Aren felt trapped. She had to get out, to go back to her mission, of finding Lykan. She needed to get out, to get away from here as fast as she could. She knew she should stock up on rations while she could. That she would likely need the food later, but she couldn’t. The thought of food made her nauseous.

A single tear rolled down her eye, but she stopped herself before she could continue down the self-destructive path. She hated herself for what she had done, but she knew it was the best thing possible for the child. She was an operative, a darn good operative at that. She might have time later where she would be assigned the role of greeter, but that was a long way away. For now, she had a mission to accomplish.

With forced mechanical movements she made her way to the mess hall, grabbed more rations, topped up her water-skins and then left. She had spent too long on this delay. She would need to track down Lykan again, and she didn’t have any clues. Logically she should head to Abberty Village, the place Lykan was most likely to head to, but she couldn’t. Even if he was there, going there would cause memories of the child to come back. Memories of the child, and what could have been.

Shaking her head, Aren realized that finding Nayali now would likely also cause similar memories to surface. Memories that were too raw and painful to deal with. While the child wasn’t hers, she still felt a connection to her. Still felt a deeper bond that went beyond the normal lines of deliverer, and a fellow legacy of war.

With time she would forgive herself. With time she realized she would likely deliver more children found in similar ways. Legacies of war were the future of the order after all. All field operatives were given classes on how to handle children, where the nearest delivery points were for just such an occasion.

War was a business that the order thrived in. It was also a process that the order used to expand their ranks. While other nations lost lives, the order grew under conflict. Aren had now met her purpose from within the order. She had found the next generation, her future replacement on the front lines. The order wasn’t the best life, but it was a life. One where food, shelter, and knowledge would all be available.

Looking back on her life Aren realized that many problems that a lot of smaller communities’ face were avoided from within the order. She often had a hard time relating to other soldiers, not quite understanding the need for material possessions or wants. Only Lykan seemed to get it. He too had the thoughts of the order, the values of the order instilled within him. Despite not being part of the order, he had a very minimalistic approach to life. An approach that made it easier for Aren to understand. Then to find out he was one, a true legacy and not just a legacy of war, that was a shock, but not unexpected.

Taking one last look around, Aren took in a deep breath and finally walked out of the iron gates.

Screech.

The iron gates again grinding to a halt behind her as she exited. She looked at the gate for a moment, only to then leave. She had other things to do. Grander things to do than to wonder about a Legacy of war. Though she promised herself she would check in on the legacy from time to time. A promise she knew she would never keep.