The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves) by Claudie Arseneault

Author:Claudie Arseneault [Arseneault, Claudie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Incandescent Phoenix Books
Published: 2015-03-14T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Nothing had prepared Seraphin for his first battle.

Freezing autumn rain covered the battlefield, obscuring their sight and drenching the soldiers to the bones. It pattered on the leaves around, the sound constant and far too close to footsteps for Seraphin’s comfort. They were in the middle of a thick wood on Regaria’s eastern shore, they couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and there was a cell of Regarian guerrilla fighters hunting them down.

He’d only been in the army for a few months at the time. Seraphin remembered clutching his rifle, fingers so cold he couldn’t feel the firearm under his skin. He remembered wiping his glasses over and over, to no avail. He remembered setting his back against Stern’s, whispering a prayer of protection.

He remembered the first shot, too. A clear bang through the muffled sounds. Then a soldier had crumpled to the ground with a cry, and the two forces had engaged in a chaotic skirmish. Between his blurry vision, the rain on his glasses, and the curtain of water falling, Seraphin had never felt so blind. His heart jumped with every shot he took, half hoping the fleeting shadow he’d aimed at would drop with a yell, the other wishing he wouldn’t manage to take a life.

It wasn’t until Stern let out a grunt behind him, stepping back as a bullet grazed his arm, that Seraphin understood taking a life might mean saving one. His resolve hardened, and when the first men fell to his shots, the guilt was but a tiny twinge at the bottom of his stomach.

It came back in full force later that night, as he sat in a common room with a roaring fire, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Every surviving soldier of the squad—most of them, it turned out—had one. The cold had seeped into every cell of their body and it seemed even the flames wouldn’t get it out, so they’d collectively opted for a less secure but just as enjoyable method of warmth. Three bottles of strong alcohol were passed from one soldier to another. Seraphin had filled small mugs for Stern and him, and the two men occupied a more isolated corner of the room.

Now that the rush of battle was gone, Seraphin couldn’t help but replay the sequence of events in his head. He’d spotted the woman crossing from a large boulder to a fallen trunk, trying to get a better angle on them, adjusted his aim, and pulled the trigger. All in one, maybe two seconds. The rifle had slammed into his bony shoulder; the woman had slumped to the muddy ground. Seraphin had taken a shuddering breath and moved to his next target.

He wondered what her name was. What her skeptar had been, and if whoever buried her would treat it with respect. Was she of those Regarians who believed you had to burn the heirloom to return freedom to one’s ancestors? With any luck, it would be Regarians taking care of her, and they would abide by her final wishes.

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