The Roaming Sea - 7. Shattered Beliefs, Pt. 2

From the moment Callum laid his head on the pillow, he slept like the dead—an empty lapse of memory between then and now. Shafts of sunlight streamed through gaps in the curtains, swaying gently in the breeze of the open window. He’d been dreaming. The details were a haze, but Rym was there, smiling. Something had interrupted his dream, woken him.

Before having a moment to consider it, a banging on his door startled him. Still muddleheaded from sleep, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to approach the unruly offender.

“Who is it?” he demanded.

“Privates Smithson and Blears,” a voice replied, muffled by the wooden door. “Are you medic Hidaro?”

“Yes?” Callum replied hesitantly.

“We need to escort you to headquarters.”

“An escort? Why?”

“Something about a debrief. I dunno, they don’t tell us nothin’.”

Callum frowned, but couldn’t fault the soldier for his ignorance. “Let me get dressed,” he called out.

A fist pounded on the door again. “You gotta let us in now.”

“I’m naked!”

“We don’t care. Open the door. We have our orders.”

“You have orders to watch me dress?” Callum asked sardonically.

The banging came yet again, harder this time. “Just open the damn door or we’ll be forced to—”

“Fine! Fine!”

Callum unbolted the lock and knocked the latch free to show it was open. The door swung wide and two soldiers entered while he dressed in a clean uniform. Once again, Callum found himself uncharacteristically shy about his naked body. This shouldn’t have bothered him, but he supposed being watched in the privacy of his own home played a part. At least they weren’t openly staring.

“Seriously, why couldn’t you wait outside?” Callum asked.

“Sorry,” one man replied, mildly off-put by the situation as well. “They said if you tried to stall us, we had to get in.”

“Stall you? Why would I do that?”

The soldier shrugged. “That’s just what they said.”

Callum pulled on his boots and gestured to the two men. “Okay, lead the way.”

The two troopers flanked him as they made their way back to headquarters. Despite Callum’s unfettered hands, an underlying suspicion evoked his time with the pactrids. Having never performed an official debrief before, he didn’t know the process, but this didn’t feel right. He considered asking the soldiers some blunt questions—maybe find out what they were told about him—but decided against it. That’d only raise their hackles. After all, they were only following orders, and likely didn’t have the answers he sought.

Upon reaching the precinct, they led him toward one of the many nondescript, multilevel stone buildings. Stairs led up, and once they reached the landing, one escort knocked on a sturdy wooden door.

“Enter,” a voice replied from within.

The soldier opened the door, giving Callum a nudge to walk in. Looking back, Callum found the two men crowding the doorway, blocking any opportunity to slip out. He didn’t want to escape, but the way they were behaving led him to believe he should. What is going on?

The office, lit by morning sun through a large window, was inviting. A older man—obviously career military—sat behind a wide, orderly desk. His uniform was clean and crisp, the insignia displaying his rank of colonel. An impressive array of medals held in wooden frames adorned the wall behind the man. Callum straightened, unaware he’d be speaking to such a high-ranking officer. According to protocol, he should’ve been reporting to a captain.

“Medic Hidaro reporting for debrief, sir,” he announced with a salute.

The colonel’s moustache—large and bushy—obscured his mouth, but Callum felt sure he was smiling amicably. His matching eyebrows, arched up, helped to confirm the assumption. He gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “Please. Sit,” he said, then turned his attention to the two soldiers at the door. “You two, close the door and wait out there.”

“Yes, sir,” they exclaimed in unison, each with their own salute, and then obeyed his order.

The colonel opened a file folder and thumbed the single piece of parchment within. Not much was written on it.

“I’m Colonel Wrenn. You made quite the commotion yesterday within the administration wing.”

Callum raised his hands in concession. “I apologise, sir. I didn’t know who to speak to, and had no way of contacting my commanding officer. I don’t even know what’s become of my company.”

“You were with 174th?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wrenn nodded sullenly. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but 174th was hit hardest. I’d say a scant ten per cent escaped with their lives.”

Callum found it difficult to parse the colonel’s words. What he said seemed unreal, impossible. He stared blankly at the desk, feeling lightheaded, having to blink to regain focus.

“I’m sorry, son,” the colonel added, reading the despair on Callum’s face. He tapped the parchment. “It says here you were in a transport accident.”

“Yes. It happened during the attack. The transporter tried his best, but he was just a kid. It took too long and the corporal had to take him to safety.” Callum caught the colonel’s eye. “To be clear, I don’t blame the kid. Do you know if he survived?”

The colonel nodded. “Each company’s set of transporters managed to escape, retreating to neighbouring companies along the line once the attack was over.”

“I guess that’s something to be thankful for,” Callum muttered.

“After the accident, where did you end up?” Wrenn asked while dipping a pen into an inkwell.

Callum recounted the story again, omitting the private moments he had with Rym, but he did mention his ability to speak the pactrid language. All the while, the colonel scribbled notes he felt pertinent to include in the file. Callum concluded by saying, “I know of one infantryman who survived the transport accident, Ralph Hindle.”

The colonel reached for another folder, this one filled with a sheaf of parchments. From Callum’s position, he could spot a list of names, each with their own status.

“We had him marked as missing in action,” Wrenn said. “Did he escape with you?”

Callum shook his head. “I’m sorry to report he was hanged.”

Despite the thick moustache, the colonel’s grim face was evident. He dipped his pen into the inkwell and updated the dead man’s status.

“I was wondering,“ Callum added. “Could you check if someone else is on that list? Medic Oren Bains. He’d just started his shift when the attack began.”

Wrenn flipped through the pages, muttering Oren’s name. His finger dropped to an entry, then hesitantly dragged across to reveal his status. A curt sigh told Callum all he needed to know.

“A friend of yours?”

The realisation Oren was gone was difficult for Callum to grasp. What about his kid and his wife, Greta? What about their child to come? For them to be without a husband and father felt unjust. What had they done to deserve such a loss? Callum could relate, but didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“How did you escape?” the colonel asked.

Callum blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The outpost where you were imprisoned. How did you escape?”

The ball of lead in Callum’s belly returned. “I didn’t. I was escorted back to the front lines.”

The colonel’s thick eyebrows knit together in a confused frown.

“Let me back up a bit,” Callum said. “Before Hindle was hanged, he was questioned by a pactrid who has a special ability to . . . read a person’s intent.” This only caused the colonel’s stare to grow more intense as Callum continued. “They read his intent to confirm he was their enemy, and they hanged him for it.”

“So, what are you saying, Hidaro? That you’re not their enemy, and they let you go?”

“I don’t know,” Callum replied, unable to meet the colonel’s gaze.

“Well, the fact you’re here now tells me one thing. Either you’re an excellent liar, or a ’trid sympathiser.”

Callum’s eyes grew wide. “Not at all!”

“So you tricked them?”

“I did nothing. They saw . . . the truth. That’s what they said.” He couldn’t continue—couldn’t say he didn’t believe in the war, that he only wanted peace. That was the truth, yet the only person who’d accept it was Rym. What am I doing here?

“What truth did they see, Hidaro?”

“I don’t know, sir. But whatever it was, they said I was free to go.”

Wrenn’s once friendly face was now stern. “You obviously didn’t lie to them, but it’s clear as day you’re lying to me now.”

“I’m telling the truth. They let me go.”

“Don’t twist my words. You know what I’m talking about. They hanged that trooper, but not you. That’s unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

“Wait, wait! Let me explain,” Callum pleaded. “When the scout was marshalling me to that outpost, he told me how the war started.”

“You know how it began. You were told, like every child of Anbera.”

“Yes, I was told the pactrids came to conquer us, and we’ve been fighting back for over a century.”

“Exactly.”

“But this pactrid showed me something different. Unlike us, he’s been alive since before the war began. He said we started it. We trespassed onto their land, past mountains marking our borders, and then set about harvesting their trees.”

The colonel frowned again. “What mountains?”

“I asked the same question. And then he . . . showed me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s aware of this, but”—Callum bit his lip—“pactrids have this ability to share their memories through touch.”

The anger on Wrenn’s face had shifted to concern for Callum. “What did he do to you?”

“He touched my head and shared his memory of scouting beyond the front line. Instead of discovering our farming villages and the city, he arrived at a towering ridge of mountains. He called them the Spine.”

“There are no mountains between here and the front lines.”

“I mean no disrespect, sir, but can either of us state that as truth? We only travel by transport to the front lines. Does anyone know how far south we’ve pushed in the past century?”

Callum should’ve been chewed out for insubordination, but the colonel appeared genuinely nonplussed contemplating the question. “Sir, if this is true and we’re the ones in the wrong, we could end this war.”

The colonel shook his head. “Even if that were the case, we still need that lumber. We wouldn’t survive without it.” He let out a deep sigh. “Regardless, it’s clear they’ve done something to you. I suspect the ’trid touching you inflicted some kind of forced suggestion.”

“But, shouldn’t we at least try to confirm—”

“You’ll have to be put through reeducation.”

“What?” Callum stammered.

The colonel raised his hands to settle him. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, but rest assured, once it’s complete, you’ll no longer be burdened by these troubling thoughts.”

Callum had no idea what that entailed and had no interest in finding out. He stood up to leave. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

“It’s not your decision to make. Hey! I didn’t say you were dismissed.”

Callum rushed to the door and pulled it open, finding the two soldiers flanking the exit. Each turned their attention to him, confused.

“Detain him!” Wrenn shouted.

Without hesitation, the two soldiers grabbed Callum’s arms and then slammed him into the stone wall. Callum struggled for only a moment, realising it would only cause him more trouble. The colonel approached, his brows once again angled down in anger.

“Who else knows of these treasonous lies?”

The last thing Callum wanted was to get his mother involved in this madness. “No one!” He hoped the lie was believable, and judging by the colonel’s reaction, it passed.

“Take our medic to the gaoler,” he said to the soldiers, then eyed Callum suspiciously. “We can’t have you spreading these ’trid lies.”

By this point, Callum knew better than to tender a contrary response, but that didn’t stop him from glaring back, looking deep into the colonel’s eyes. What he hoped to find was at least the smallest shred of doubt brought on by Callum’s statement, but instead he found nothing of the sort. The colonel’s eyes were stone. What Wrenn believed could not be shaken by the words of a seemingly compromised, low-ranking medic.

The gaol cells were elsewhere within the precinct, but where exactly, Callum wasn’t sure. Of course, his new captors knew the way—each guiding him by twisting his arms behind his back. If Callum was determined enough, he felt he could wrestle out of their grasp and run. But where would he go? And how would he escape the precinct with two shouting troopers snapping at his heels? No doubt someone ahead of Callum would witness the skirmish and block his way.

No, it was best to remain compliant for now. They couldn’t hold him forever—could they?—nor were his actions dire enough to warrant an execution. Right now, patience was key. He’d play along until they’d lower their defences, then he’d make his escape. Back to pactrid territory. Back to Rym.

After waiting for prisoner forms to be filled out, Callum was—yet again—stripped naked for his captors. But upon slipping into ill-fitting overalls, dread washed over him. The compass was missing. It took a moment to recall himself removing it yesterday before he’d headed to the baths. He could visualise it now, sitting on the bedside table. He always wore it, but he’d forgotten this morning due to the rude awakening. In a way, it was ideal he’d overlooked it. The compass was safer out of the hands of the gaoler.

Callum couldn’t help a wry smile cross his face once the metal gate to his cell slammed home. Compared to his time at the pactrid outpost, this was a substantial improvement. The floor was clean, folded linen sat atop a cot, and the chamber pot didn’t stink. He suspected he’d be stuck here for a while, so at least the space wasn’t terrible. The only drawback, given the cells were underground, was the lack of daylight. An oil lamp—its glass grimy with soot—hung in the hallway, producing a sliver of orange, flickering light into his cramped space. The gaol, smaller than expected, only comprised six cells. Callum called out, curious if any other prisoners were locked up, but the adjoining cells remained silent.

With a sigh, he spread out the linen over the cot and lay down. He tried to sleep, but his mind refused to settle. The events of the past seven days kept replaying in his mind. During his entire time with Rym, he never felt the pactrid was trying to deceive him. Sure, Rym was tight-lipped at times, unwilling to share information freely, but never did Callum feel he was being lied to. It wasn’t until he recounted his experience with his mother—and more so with the colonel—did the cracks of doubt within himself begin to emerge.

What if they were right? What if the pactrid’s story was a fabrication to instil strife within the Anberan military ranks? Rym had shown him the mountains, but those projected images could’ve been a deceptive tool to trick him.

Callum’s fascination toward the pactrid, however, was real. At least, he hoped it was. He still couldn’t properly construe his feelings about Rym—a complicated attraction difficult to pin down. As much as he hated to admit it, a part of it was physical. The pactrid’s muscular stature and looming height was exciting and alluring, but not in a sexual nature. He simply felt safe with Rym by his side, and the idea of the pactrid holding him close brought a sense of fulfilment he’d always been searching for.

More importantly was Rym’s demeanour. That’s what attracted him most. Callum could foresee a faint seed of friendship, which if allowed to bloom, would be more extraordinary than anything he could imagine.

Did Rym’s touch somehow trick him into feeling this way? If so, to what end? The pactrid’s wish for Callum to stay felt undoubtedly genuine, and was compounded by his disappointment upon learning of Callum’s request to return home. If his story was a ruse to create conflict, he would’ve wanted Callum to leave.

He buried his face in his hands, uttering a frustrated groan. So many unanswered questions, and now being locked in this cell with no way to discover the truth. As hard as it was, he pushed all that aside. His current predicament was more important. Colonel Wrenn spoke of reeducation. Despite being unable to fathom what that involved, Callum shuddered at the idea. Would he forget everything he’d learnt while in enemy territory?

Worse yet, would he forget about Rym?