5 - Expectations

 "You look like shit."

Anzi looked up to see Pierro standing in the hallway just outside her open door. She hadn't noticed his approach because of the irritating noise that this barracks building tolerated, the humming of constant conversation leaking through the cabin walls and even occasional shouting. In the Imperial City, noise beyond a whisper was never tolerated in sleeping quarters. If soldiers wanted to socialize and speak freely, they went to the recreational buildings.

No discipline here at all. Desert garrisons really were this disorganized.

"You don't look so good either," she told the other soldier, making sure to look him up and down with a deliberate, pointed expression from where she sat on her low cot. "You could have left the trash talking behind when I knocked you out, by the way."

He sidled into the tiny room with his hands clasped behind his back, looking around from left to right and floor to ceiling with casual innocence. She stared at him all the while, but he pretended not to notice as he turned to explore the suddenly-very-interesting corners of her quarters.

"If you don't have anything to say, you could leave."

He threw her a glance over his shoulder at long last. "Oh, come on. You're not mad, are you? That was all friendly banter. I don't know why you let me get you so worked up all the time."

"I didn't say anything, and yet you already knew I didn't like it. So why do you keep doing it in the first place?"

He rolled his eyes and turned away again to continue exploring her cramped lodgings. "Anyway, if you're done feeling disrespected...have you heard anything yet?"

She pressed her lips together. Of course. Pierro wasn't the sort of person to come back and try to make amends with anyone, even badly. She should have known he had come only to try to find out what was coming next. Some friend. Maybe she had misjudged his character. Ever since the group had arrived here last week, his easygoing and playful demeanor had become blotted with a growing competitive, almost belligerent streak.

It was a shame fellow soldiers couldn't get along. She'd had high hopes for everyone. Too high.

"...No," she said finally. "Colonel hasn't come back from the Gauntlet site. He and the garrison captain here are taking care of the wyrm problem."

"Yeah, speaking of which, the size of that thing, right?"

She didn't answer. He was still on her shit list.

...But yes, he was right. She was still marveling at how one of that size had showed up all the way on the outer edges of the desert. They had only begun reappearing a scant decade ago, nymphs that were a meter or two long at most, no more than that. Who would have thought that things could change so rapidly? After hundreds of years of tame peace, beasts were reappearing on the Empire's desert doorstep again, and no one could have predicted things could change so quickly.

Well, with the exception of that one time all those years ago. But she didn't like thinking about that encounter. The 'incident.' She quickly shelved it away again, feeling queasy at the mere memory of pitch black scales and knowing eyes, flashing golden in the night...

"...llo? Come back to us. Hello, hello."

Anzi frowned and shot Pierro an irritated glare. "We're not talking right now. I want to rest. Go away."

"So even the amazing Anzi needs a breather sometimes. That's incredible, someone fetch the town crier." He waved his hands around with mock excitement. "I can't believe it. Next, you'll say that you're only human like the rest of us."

"Stop it."

"I'm just kidding. You know I am."

"Are you? Because it seems like you only ever say that when you want to annoy me." She pointed at the door. "Go away. Aimee and Doufan might appreciate your company a lot more than I do right now."

She saw him pause for a second before turning around, slowly and carefully, until his whole body was facing her. In such a small room as this, his large stature seemed to take up more space than it should - not to mention his demeanor that had suddenly become frosty in the span of a few seconds. That somehow felt more stifling than his bulky size.

"You know," he said, "you haven't even asked about them at all."

She lowered her eyebrows hard. "They're fine."

"You know that for a fact?"

"If they're not, then they shouldn't have been here in the first place."

Did he think he was going to make her feel guilty just because they had done what they were supposed to do? This wasn't a game, and they weren't here to play. She was simply the last one left standing - that didn't make her wrong.

"See, normally..." He paused again, holding his tongue in a way that she knew was supposed to be at least mildly offensive. "...you would check to make sure how everyone's doing, just in case. Which is why I came here, actually."

"You didn't need to."

"It's the nice thing to do."

"Then thank you."

Pierro still looked unsatisfied, however, and she was fast losing her patience. She was tired and in pain, even though she had assured the colonel that she was fine earlier. But what choice had she had? It would have been embarrassing to request medical attention after all of that, especially since the others were in worse condition than she was. What would be the point of victory if it wasn't graceful? What would be the point in standing out if she was only going to whine about it afterward?

Pierro should be thinking this way, too. Or was he not a soldier?

"Another thing," he said in the silence. "Just because you expect it from yourself doesn't mean you get to demand the same from everyone else. You might think you're better than us, but we all came here as equals. Don't forget that."

"Are you posturing on me? I've never said I'm better than any of you."

"But you think it, and you act like it."

"Or maybe I'm acting the way all of us should. We've come this far. We shouldn't be coddling each other."

"And there you go again, being patronizing. This is pointless. You make it hard to be your friend sometimes."

She felt something flare up inside her, hot and hard. "I didn't ask you to be my friend."

"No, because you're too good for that. All you do is try to win, win, win to prove that you're more devoted and deserving than everyone else. That's all you do -"

"What I do," she snapped, "is act like a soldier!"

He snorted. "Well, just so you know, one soldier doesn't make an army. See you later, winner."

Forget it. If he wanted to act like a child, then that was his choice. She didn't have to humor his bruised pride and pretend to sympathize with him. Obviously, he was acting high and mighty to disguise his bitterness at his total loss. And the others, Aimee and Doufan, had he already stopped by to see them? Maybe they had all talked among themselves already, and Pierro had come to see her after they had convened and decided to send him to confront her about this morning. She wouldn't be surprised. She had never had anyone on her side since the day she entered the Service, so why would that change now? Just because she had expected better from the top echelon of candidates for the Premier Guard? Well, clearly she was the idiot for it. From now on, she would be sure to expect abominably little from the others, just like Pierro apparently wanted.

She swung her legs up onto the bed, ignoring the throbbing of her muscles as she forcibly settled into the worn dip of her cot. She was going to get her rest while she could so that she was ready for the captain and colonel when they returned. The others would be smart to do the same, even if they were going to be staying right here until they got past this phase while she went on ahead.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of the scratchy blanket she lay on top of. Damn Pierro. The Service was no place for soft feelings and weakness. Wasn't he ashamed of himself? So what if she hadn't gone to see how Doufan and Aimee were doing in the infirmary? They weren't dead, and any injuries they had sustained would be fixed by the garrison healer.

If they blamed her in any way, let them. They shouldn't, but even if they did, she didn't care. She had done what she needed to do and as the training course intended. If they held that against her, that would only hinder their own progress. They should learn from this experience instead of being bitter over it.

She lifted then banged the side of her fist down upon the cot by her hip.

Damn them.

* * * * *

Shifting sands, the smell of cinnamon, the hot, curling breath of the desert wind against her face. She remembers this. It's been so long, but this is home. She's facing the direction of the deep sands, though, the east. She'll have to turn if she wants to start heading for home.

And she does turn, but too much. Home is due north from here, up the desert fringes, not to the west. The west is toward the Imperial City. She's turned too much -

But her body doesn't belong to her, and she fails to divert her own course. What's happening? Is she possessed? No, it's more like she's the one trapped inside someone else. She can feel every movement, but none of them are of her own volition, and she struggles haphazardly inside her mind to try to squeeze out of this uncanny prison.

The body she inhabits pauses, and she's forced to stand there in pure discomfort as she feels her hand rise toward her face. Stop it, she demands, but she has no voice to speak with. Still, she struggles. Stop!

But the hand doesn't stop, and she glimpses its shadow just before it begins stroking her left temple. The touch stings and hurts, and she remembers vaguely that she was hurt there somehow. She couldn't remember when or why, but it hurts anyway, and she thrashes in her consciousness in indignant outrage. Out, she demands. Let me out!

It occurs to her suddenly that she doesn't recognize this touch. These callused fingers are not her own, and the hand is too large. Masculine. What?

But try as she might, she can't turn her head to get a better look at this offending hand. Even her eyes are frozen in place, staring straight ahead at the golden dunes touched by the sun, and she's forced to endure this irritating stroking for another long moment.

...Strangely, the pain begins to ease away bit by bit, until all that's left is a dull throbbing instead of sharp, acrid stings. Afterward, she's left only with confused suspicion when a ribbon of pleased relief spins through her, radiating from where the fingers are gently running along the side of her forehead.

I'm here, she hears someone whisper. I'm coming to find you.

* * * * *

Anzi awoke with a start and a frustrated growl burning at the back of her throat. Awful, awful. She turned her head to check the iridescent timecatcher she had hung by the window, and two knotted threads glowed in the middle of the small circle of netted fabric. It was still half past eight, barely half an hour since she had fallen asleep. What kind of dream had that been? All it had done was agitate her, and she felt more exhausted now than she had before she lay down for a nap.

She threw another glare at the timecatcher, which continued to sparkle faintly in the sunlight that powered its minor magic. She didn't like it, but the colonel had told them all to carry one while they were out here with the desert garrison. He had given her a pointed look in particular, and she'd known that there was no point in arguing that she didn't like carrying magic trinkets.

All he would say was that she needed to get over it and open her mind to the utility of magic more, since it would be required for the curriculum if she wanted to join the Premier.

Magic. Why was she feeling so apprehensive about it all of a sudden? It was only a dream. Not real. She rolled her shoulders and settled back into the cot, but her eyes remained wide open and staring at the ceiling.

Magic. She had never liked it. Made her nervous...

She curled the fingers of her left hand at her side, uncharacteristically hesitant. She didn't like this feeling. Didn't like that she didn't want to confront it, either. What was she, a coward? A superstitious idiot? She was angry at herself that she could feel so unsettled by a mere dream, and even angrier that she was confusing it with reality. But still, she had to be sure.

She lifted her fingers to her forehead and pressed the tips to her temple in a cautious probe, testing the ugly, scraped wound that one of Aimee's rocks had left earlier. Surely -

Her jaw tightened. The skin had healed over. It still felt heavily bruised and throbbed under her touch, but the abraded surface had become smooth, as if it had never been touched.

She let her hand fall back down to her side and continued to stare up at the ceiling, seeing nothing.