BY MARINA MCKINLEY

A revolution is not so easily chosen. After all, it isn’t easy to turn one’s back on the comforts afforded by a predictable life. I do not envy the American rebels for their decision to turn their back on this life. Even the less-than-ideal parts of a life lived in subjugation are tolerable if you can predict them.

For example, Sergeant Richard Fulton was always tough on the men, me in particular. However, when I tripped about a pile of round shot, the heavy cannonballs sent rolling about camp and knocking half the company on their rears, Sergeant Fulton’s countenance seemed particularly severe. He dusted off his breeches and coat, admonishing me harshly as expected.

“Carraway, what the devil is the matter with you?” Said he, planting the base of the company spontoon in the dirt next to me.

I looked up but could not meet his gaze. “Sir I…”

“I don’t actually want to hear your excuses. I know the type of man you are. You attract bad luck wherever you go because you refuse to better yourself. We are going on patrol later, so clean this up and look a bit smart, would you?”

I didn’t say anything, still sitting on the ground.

“Back in line with you,” said Fulton.

I scrambled to my feet and trudged back to the other soldiers who were less than happy to be next to me. Despite his constant hounding, even Fulton’s criticisms felt somehow comforting. The regularity was as dependable as the drums that beat throughout the day, calling us to our tasks. Try as he might, I didn’t want that to change. My life was like a story you hear in the company of acquaintances at a tavern at the end of a long day. You take comfort in it because you know how it goes every time. Who was I to endeavor to change that?

After our inspection and while I rolled cartridges at a table, one of the company drummers named Red came up to me, no doubt wanting some idle gossip like he was wont to do. He was a younger fellow at the age of seventeen who savored to harass his older compatriots.

            “May want to pack those cartridges with some extra powder,” he chided at me. “The local trapper says there are bears about, and I doubt a man-sized shot will down them based on what he tells me.”

            “The bears?” I asked as I scooped a measure of powder. “If we make enough noise, surely it will scare them off.”

            “Not these bears. The trapper said the scene he found was unlike one he had encountered in some 40 years. The jaws of the trap were completely mangled, and the spring was snapped. What’s stranger still was the fur caught in the jaws. It was a bright flaxen gold. It reminded me of your hair, actually. You haven’t been stuck in any bear traps lately, have you?”

            I narrowed my eyes at Red. “Not recently, no. Don’t you have anything better to do than spread idle gossip?”

            “Ah, imagine that. I could have a hat made of golden bearskin,” Red said, ignoring my question. “I think it would quite suit me. It would match my coat. Certainly it would be much smarter than this drab and dull black one.” He fluffed the fur on his hat some. I looked at my own cocked hat, the tassels frayed and the brim already starting to sag. “Do endeavor to shoot the beast and bring him back while out on patrol later.”

            “Right. I’ll just announce my presence to every rebel militia in the area to take a shot at your bear.”

            “For King and country! It would be a noble sacrifice. People all over the dominion labor their lives away for our red wool and pewter buttons as well. Not to mention the tea you take with sugar. I’ll think of you when I am wearing my new hat!”

            Red walked, or more so skipped, away and I returned to my task, having gained little as always from my interaction with the obnoxious fellow.

Later that day, part of the company was out on patrol. Sergeant Fulton led us through the woods in the area along a dirt road. I would never quite become accustomed to these infernal American summers. The heat was bad, but the muggy air would drop men just as fast. Sergeant Fulton stopped our column and looked around wildly for something. I gripped the stock of my firelock and held my breath, only for a disheveled girl with reddish brown hair to come stumbling out of the bushes.

            “Young lady,” began Fulton, “this road isn’t safe. There are rebel militia in these woods.”

            The girl grabbed Fulton’s sleeve. “You are correct, good sir. But there is more in these woods than just enemy soldiers. What lurks here would be a bane on both sides of this war. You should turn back.”

            Fulton narrowed his eyes and snatched his arm away. “We’ve heard reports about some bears in the area-”

            “These aren’t bears. I suggest you return to your camp.”

            “If not bears, then what?”

            “I… can’t say.”

            “Is this more of the superstitious nonsense you provincials love to spread?”

            “Last I heard, Britain has its share of ‘superstitious nonsense.’”

            “We are a rational sort and pay little mind to such stories. War, however, is a tangible matter and far more pressing.”

            Fulton led us past the girl. I admit her words conjured up the conversation I had earlier with Red in camp.

            “Just… Don’t be out after dark!” She called after us.

It wasn’t much further beyond that point that we were set upon by the enemy. A shot rang out from the woods, the smoke quickly giving away our foe’s position. Fulton clutched his arm, apparently having been grazed.

            “Steady men! Form up!” He ordered.

            Fulton gave the command and the steps for firing, a familiar routine for me. Again, I found comfort in it. Even knowing that a ball might find me at any minute, the practiced motions had my hands move on their own as I retrieved a cartridge from my pouch, tore it open, primed the pan, and loaded my firelock.

            More shots rang out from the opposite side before we could fire our volley. Fulton commanded us to fire only to turn and see more of the devils hiding in the woods on the other side of the road. They had us surrounded, and we had no way of knowing exactly how many lay in wait in the dense undergrowth. They used underhanded tactics as expected.

            “Independent fire!” Fulton ordered as our column dispersed.

            Some of my compatriots fired true as the screams indicated from the bushes, but a small rank of rebels formed along the road and fired at close range. The man to my side fell instantly, clutching his leg. I recovered as quickly as I could, trying to prime and load my firelock. As I aimed the piece and squeezed the trigger, a click without a subsequent bang sent a cold sweat down the back of my neck. My flint was dull. I forgot to replace it…

            In that instant, the rebel across from me by only a few yards fired and I at once felt as though a hot iron had hit my side. The force knocked me back, and I collapsed to my knees. I clutched the place, somewhere on my side just below the ribs. It wasn’t a good spot to say the least. I tried to stand back up, but found myself unable to do so.  Instead, I listed to my side like a sinking ship and lay there.

            “H-help me!” I begged. The others were busy fending off attacks from all sides. They barely spared me a passing glance, and who could blame them? Not even my messmates could tolerate me in more peaceful circumstances.

            Warm blood coursed up through my fingers where I held the place and my vision grew dim at the scene. I didn’t exactly want to die, but could I really be surprised, coming here and fighting a war? It was a wonder that hot lead hadn’t found its way to me already. I thought about the dull flint, just sharp enough to fire once before failing completely the second time. Maybe Sergeant Fulton was right. My rotten luck was my fault anyway. Perhaps this, too, was all to be expected.

I awoke drenched in sweat and in a good deal of pain. The road from earlier was blanketed in the darkness of night now, though the moon, almost full, gave me something to see by. Around me were the other soldiers from both sides, I had to assume all were dead from the earlier conflict. It was some miracle I wasn’t among them, but it was perhaps too soon to make that call definitively. The wound had mostly stopped bleeding, but it hurt to the point that I could barely move.

            At once, I felt someone approach from the side and I turned to see the girl from earlier. She was examining the wound with a dim lantern when she looked up to meet my gaze.

            “You’re alive?” asked she, her face paling a little.

            “Is that a bad thing?” I inquired, noticing her expression.

            “No, it just… complicates things. Are you able to walk? We need to get you away from here.”

            “Walk? I can try. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

            “I could ask you the same. Had your group not heard my warning?”

            “I’m not exactly in a… position to effect change. I go where I’m told. It’s not that I didn’t take what you said seriously…”

            She turned her attention to the wound. “Let me see to the wound. I can do basic surgery.”

            “Shouldn’t I have the company surgeon do that?”

            I cringed as the girl was already digging around in my side with some medical tools from her bag. She gave me the leather strap of the bag to bite down on. In a swift, expert motion, she withdrew the deformed ball of lead from my side. How she managed the feat in the scant light of her candle I’d never know.

            “My mentor was a surgeon,” she mentioned.

            Before I could thank her, she put her hand over my mouth whispering, “don’t move. It’s here…”

            Some lumbering shape approached from the road, and a horrid sound found my ears, some cross between a wet rag hitting floorboards and the crack of hastily consumed chicken bones. To my horror, it was hunched over one of the dead. It could have been a bear as Red mentioned earlier, but much larger than the ones I was accustomed to seeing. All of those notions evaporated, however, when it stood up. It must have been as tall as a horse with long, hairy arms. The head was that of some dog, and its pointed ears cut a beastly silhouette against the moonlight. I couldn’t help but notice its golden fur.

            “Wh-what the…?” came the disorientated gasp from one of the other soldiers, apparently not dead as I had previously assumed.

            The beast turned, and I saw its shadowed face. Its glowing blue eyes set their sights on my companion and, in an instant, its teeth were two white smears in the darkness as it lunged for him.

            “I’ll be damned before I let some wild animal eat me!” shouted he, hoisting his firelock up with its affixed bayonet and charging at the monster.

            “No, stop!” I called without thinking, seeing how badly he was hurt and the sheer size of this creature.

            My companion jammed the bayonet into the beast’s gut, but it seemed to barely penetrate its hairy hide. In such a weak spot, one would expect at least some blood. Instead, it seemed to glance, and at once the beast was upon my ill-fated friend. He barely had time to let out a stifled cry before it ripped his throat out.

            I found myself unable to breathe at the sight. I glanced at my fallen comrade and shuddered seeing the fate that awaited me. Suddenly, I remembered the girl to my side. She was as much in danger as I. She was the first person to show me kindness in a long time.

            “Get away. I’ll hold the beast off here” I hissed to her, staggering to my feet and taking my friend’s musket. It felt heavy in my hands in my weakened state, but still I hoisted it up.

            “What are you doing?” She turned to me in alarm.

            “My own revolution!” I rasped out in reply.

Thinking back, this idea was doomed to folly, but I had to do something. Perhaps that was the first time in years I felt that way about anything. It charged at me, its tongue lolling out and still dripping with fresh blood. I managed to just barely deflect its attack with the bayonet, the beast barreling over me long, having just missed me by inches. It recovered and set its sights on me anew, a new hunger in its eyes like that of a cat cornering a rat that dared to fight back. It lumbered up to me, slouching as it approached. I readied the weapon again, but staggered from the pain in my side. Whatever compelled me to take up against this monster couldn’t overcome my grievous injury from earlier.

            A horrid scream cut through the air and, for a split second when I dared look away, the girl from earlier was no more. Instead, her form seemed to shift into a dog-headed beast, much like the one before me, with tattered clothes hanging from its long arms. As the creature from earlier resumed its charge, this new one bowled into it, pinning it to the ground. The two fought fiercely with claws and teeth bared, but eventually, the newcomer showed itself as victorious. The attacker slinked away into the woods and I turned my attention to my unlikely savior.

            “H-hey, please don’t eat me…” I stammered as it turned to look at me before clutching my wound again. I definitely reopened it.

            It approached slowly, but the scene blurred before my eyes. I willed myself to stay awake, but, like the previous one, this was a battle I was doomed to lose.

Something grabbed me under the arms and, as my eyes struggled, I could tell it was now morning and I was at the entrance to the company camp. The arms that held me were wrapped in red wool and I knew at once they were my compatriots: Sergeant Fulton and another man. They looked me over and talked amongst themselves, unaware that I was awake.

            “This is Carraway, isn’t it?” asked one.

            “That would seem to be the case. I could have sworn he was dead back at our skirmish on the road,” answered Fulton, his arm wrapped from his previous wound.

            “How did he make it back here with wounds like his? Did he… walk?”

            “Who knows. Perhaps luck has finally found the poor sod after all.”

            As they helped me up, I found my legs enough to allow Fulton to put the arm opposite my wound around his shoulder. Looking back into the trees, I noticed the girl from earlier looking on from behind a large pine tree. Her hair was down revealing her pointed ears. She wrapped herself tightly in a blanket before turning and disappearing into the woods.

In the surgeon’s tent, the company surgeon came by to look at the wound. It was already cleaned and dressed, much to his and my surprise.   

            “Well, it is in a bad spot, but someone got to it quickly,” he noted. “It could go either way, what with infection, but you have the best possible odds.”

            Someone came in and the surgeon quickly turned. “Oh no, not you again. I won’t have you harassing the wounded.”

            “Relax,” came Red’s voice much to my dismay. “He’s a friend of mine. I just wanted to come see him.”

            “You have friends?”

            Red pushed past him to come up to my side. “Carraway! I heard you were shot! You didn’t happen to see my bear out there, did you?”

            I leaned back and shuddered. “That bear turned out to be nothing but trouble.”

            “Did it now?”

            I laid back and shuddered. “Yes. And Red, don’t go looking for anything in these woods. You don’t need a new hat that badly.”

Part of Wolf by Candlelight, a web comic by Marina McKinley.