FARLORN'S FORLORN
CHAPTER FOUR: THE LOST AND FORGOTTEN
PART TWO
Location: Fenessa, Roosthold
Character: Colonel Anakwar Farlorn of
The First-and-Only Carian Ranger Regiment
The winding river was filled with lanterns, thousands of them… no, tens of thousands. Every single one belonging to someone that had given their lives for a cause that mattered. They seemed endless and Farlorn knew that it would always stay that way. The Confederacy was built on the sacrifice and duty of its citizens in order to survive in a Galaxy that seemed to despise it. There would always be lanterns for they would always be those that would go beyond what was expected of them in the name of those they loved.
He suspected that one day he would get his very own lantern.
The incessant rain seemed to continue, but it was slowly beginning to lighten up. It was still freezing, biting to the bones of the griefing rangers. Their procession came to a stop at the top landing of worn mossy stone stairs that led all the way down to the river. The two hundred and so chosen cremation jar bearers broke rank and thoughtfully descended down the steps. At the same time, a martial band on loan from another Dauntless unit began to play. They were playing an old tune that the Colonel recognized from his younger days, “I vow to thee, my people, my nation.”
Standing on a raised prefab stage with the four Majors and the two specialist Captains, Farlorn felt a dull ache in his heart. He could remember the old campfire songs they would sing along with that somber tune. It told the story of a young wife waiting for her dearly loved one under a fruit tree surrounded by rolling golden fields of Dust-Corn. There were several variations depending on the mood of the singers, she was pregnant, had flaming ginger hair, the tree was by a mist-wreathed river, or was simply just butt-ugly. But no matter what changed, the ending never did. An officer would come strolling up the hill with an envalope with the shade of green that everyone with family or lovers in service feared.
However, she would never cry. That would be when the chorus would be sung, the same oath of duty and promise that everyone who dared clutch a rifle would utter.
The pipes began to play alongside the strings beginning to reach their tempo.
Farlorn could not help himself muttering alongside the lyrics he had used to sing with his old comrades from Zolan, now all six feet under. It was almost like they were beside him, alongside his new ones.
“I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.”
He closed his eyes. The urns were being spread, grey ash softy flying away. He heard several troopers in the ranks finally break into uncontrollable sobs.
“And there's another country,
I've heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
We may not count her armies, we may not see her shores again;
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.”
“Present arms!” Major Fennstrum order, his voice cutting like steel through the brass that was now being played.
Thirty soldiers raised their carbines into the air with drilled precision.
“Fire.”
They all fired three volleys of blaster-bolts into the air. They flew up like fireworks before fizzling out.
Once that was all done, Farlorn took a step forward and cleared his throat. He looked side to side at the three thousand and a half men gathered before him in the rain. He didn’t need a script. He didn’t need to prepare. He didn’t need to think. He already knew what he wanted and needed to say.
“We are gathered here today, to remember those that have given their lives in the name of something that is so much bigger than themselves.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I won’t bother with the fancy words of how heroic each and every one of the fallen was. Because you already know that. They fell side by side with their brothers and sisters, fighting to the very end. They stood to their last, giving everything they had for you. For only in death, does our service to our nation end.
"There will be a day when this bloody nightmare that is our struggle against the tyrants, enslavers, and despoilers of the Galaxy ends in total victory. Then, when the scars heal like a fading dream, will the sacrifices of the fallen seem ever more important. They will never be lost, they will never be forgotten, you have my word on that.
“For the Confederacy, for the Vicelord!” He and the men below him cried out in unison. He continued on, reading a list of commendations and awards given out posthumously to the dead for about an hour. After that, the men were dismissed and dissipated into the surrounding city. Some would drink their sorrows away with friends at cantinas, while others would cope by going to less reputable establishments.
But the end was all the same, the troopers would gather in small groups, lift up their glasses in a toast and utter the same words: “To the lucky bastards that get to go home early.”
***
Pathfinder-Master Hark found the Colonel on the end of a wooden dock down the river as night began to fall. He seemed so out of place, an impeccable yet somber black uniform standing out against the crowds. But he was utterly alone on the docks, staring out at the lanterns on the water and on the other side of the river, where dozens more locals were putting lanterns out into the tide of the river. There seemed to be so many, that if they could bare a man, one could walk from one shore to the other.
She walked up the dock. Despite the wood is old, rotten, and flimsy, she was utterly silent.
“Are you all right, Colonel?” Hark asked from behind. Farlorn didn’t jump in surprise, experience with his elite pathfinder had thought him that.
“Yeah I’m fine,” Farlorn replied.
“Except I wonder if it’s ever going to stop raining.”
“What do you mean, sir? It’s not raining anymore.” She dared to step forward to his side.
“Yes, it still is,” Hark saw that a trail of water dripping down the sides of his cheek. His fist was at his sides, clenching so tight that his knuckles were now turning pale.
“Oh, so it is.” She stared out to the water, out at the sea of lit lanterns. Each one was a life lost. A hole sundered in a family. A story ceased, more than likely prematurely.
Farlorn felt a hand grip his shoulder. He didn’t reject it.
“Sir, forgive me for stepping out of line, but if you want to talk about anything, know that you’ve got people that you can rely on. A single person shouldn’t have to bare everything on his own.”
Farlorn didn’t reply.
He just kept looking out, his shoulders beginning to shake as he allowed himself to let it out.
