What Comes After

It had been six years since Kalya had seen her mother. Six years that she had fought. Killed. Struggled. Six years that she had stayed in the snowy mountains of the Tenedzum, following orders: burning down villages; separating good, young men from their heads... separating them from their families. Six years that she had wasted, fighting on the wrong side of a war that never should have happened. The Emperor would say there was peace now, but Kalya did not see it that way. What follows war is not peace, it is something else entirely. Mourning, anger, loss, a destruction of the spirit of an entire culture. There was no word for it, but it was wrong to call it peace, because things were not peaceful. The average citizen would never see what had happened in the Tenedzum, and the crown would never tell them, but Kalya and the others in Utaszu knew. They had lived through it all, right on the Empire's southern border. Their home had been turned into a military stronghold, housing thousands of soldiers and their weapons of murder. What had once been a peaceful fishing village, a link between two cultures, and a place for the exchange of ideas and stories, had fallen into ruin in the shadow of an atrocity. The trees had been cleared to build barracks, the rivers and lakes had been fished down to nothing to feed the massive influx of soldiers, and the friendly faces of Utaszu had turned tired and bitter.
Kalya was only one of many who had been enlisted in the war. When it became clear that the mountain tribes were not going to give up their homeland without a serious fight, Emperor Lyanok had demanded that every able-bodied man and woman in the South join the conflict. Their enemy was the Hadzo people of the Tanadszomo Mountains, which were a frigid and dangerous mountain range that most outsiders rarely visited; they called their homeland the Tenedzum. They had coexisted peacefully as neighbors for many centuries, and Kalya could not understand why the Empire had suddenly changed course like this. She had known many Hadzo people from their travels to Utaszu, where they traded goods with the local people, and often stayed there for weeks, citing their famous hospitality. Kalya had even journeyed up into the mountains when she was younger, all the way to Dzedz Kanat. There she had met a warrior by the name of Diti: a towering, intimidating man, with tattoos all over his bare, muscular chest, and a necklace of finger bones he said he had claimed in previous battles. He had been missing one finger himself. Although he scared her at first, Kalya discovered that he was not as fierce or dangerous as his appearance suggested, and he had brought her into his home, and taught her the customs of his tribe. Kalya did not know whether Diti was still alive. Her legion had fought mostly in the Southeast, very far from Dzedz Kanat. She hoped that he had made it through.
Now, Kalya was coming home. She rode down a dirt path in the foothills of the Tenedzum, looking out on the Great Ironwood below which enclosed her home city. As she got closer to the forest, her heart began to beat faster. First, she felt it in her wrists, an uncomfortable thump as she tried to focus on holding the reins of her steed. Then, she felt it in her temples, a drip of sweat beading on the side of her head as her pulse continued to quicken. A heavy, anxious feeling mounted in her chest, as she lowered her eyes and bit her lip to try to calm herself down. Could she really return home after all this time? Her breathing became fast and shallow. Would things ever be the same? Would they ever be okay? She was shaky now, barely staying mounted on her ibex. Would her mother even want to see her? Kalya pulled up harshly on the reins and dismounted. She walked off to the side of the road as a steady drumroll of hoofbeats continued behind her, the other legionnaires passing her by. Kalya knelt down on the dirt, and gazing at the forest below, she spoke a quick prayer under her breath, in an attempt to gather herself. But she knew not to which god she was praying, for it seemed to her that even the most pious men of Tajj Neta no longer believed. If the monks were correct, and the First Passages were true, then Kalya would certainly not be passing on to any heavenly afterlife. She had done unspeakable things in the name of an Emperor she despised, and she knew she could never forgive herself for doing them. Even if she could return home, and return to her normal life, she was no longer herself, and she would be living a falsehood. There was no answer to this problem, and there was no way to fix the things that she had done.
Slowly, she rose to her feet.
Kalya mounted her steed, and fell back into line with her brothers and sisters. She could tell she was not the only one who felt this way. As the legion of 50 soldiers rode together down the narrow dirt path which led them home, not a word was spoken. There were many others that Kalya had known, who would not be returning home today. They had died in one horrible way or another, and all for what? Indeed, Kalya and the others who accompanied her now were the lucky ones - at least they would live on in the aftermath, and could attempt to piece their lives back together, however futile it may be. At least they could try. Kalya's thoughts went on for some time like this, until at last the dirt path widened and the southern watchtowers of the Ironwood could be seen. As she passed through the gates and back into her homeland, a massive cheer erupted from a crowd that had been waiting for them since dawn. Commoners and soldiers alike stood in the crowd, and they heaped praise and gratitude upon every legionnaire as they passed by, throwing out words like "brave" or "valiant" or "hero". Kalya pretended to appreciate them. She still had a half-day's ride until home, and the sun had nearly set. The legionnaires found their way to the nearest town and made camp outside of its walls, feasted upon whatever the townspeople had to offer them, and of course made their way to the brothels, which had exceptionally generous rates for war heroes. Kalya barely touched her dinner, and sat at the table for hours, taking the occasional sip of her rabbit stew and watching as her companions filtered in and out of the mess hall, and drank themselves deep into the barrels of ale that had been brought out for them. When the ruckus finally died down a bit, she made her way to her tent, and laid down.
Of course, Kalya could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the pain and misery that she'd caused. And yet, she could hear only the voices of the townspeople, calling her a hero as she rode through those gates. Victorious, yet utterly defeated. There were no victors in war, only survivors. Kalya turned endlessly on top of her bedroll until it became obvious that she would be getting no rest. She rose to her feet once more and exited through the flap of her tent. In the darkness, all she could see were the hanging lanterns which lit the town, and fireflies twinkling in the canopy overhead. It was very late, and the town was completely quiet. The sun would be up in just a few hours, and she would be home by midday, perhaps even earlier. And then it would be over... Kalya closed her eyes and swore under her breath. Without thinking, she ran to the stables, and undid her ibex's lead. She mounted it swiftly, spurred its sides, and burst straight into a gallop, heading directly East and out of the town. She stopped when she reached the road which would bring her back to Utaszu. Looking left, she saw dimly lit tree-tops, swaying gently over the cobblestone path which led towards home, and seemed to go on forever; in the other direction, she could see the gates of the Ironwood, unlit and unattended - over them she could see the outline of the Tanadszomo Mountains, just barely visible in the moonlight, menacing the entire forest below them. Kalya took a focused, deep breath, pulled her reins to the right, and rode.