If we lose a limb, we replace it with something else. No matter how crude it is. 

Why would it be it any different with our souls?

LoG, 166

Yellow colour now blurred Squinty's entire visage as she was inevitably drowning in her past. Wicked smiles on Sien's and Enoka's stained saffron lips. The pallor of tortured Roko's face.

The images overcame her and Squinty disappeared down the vortex of the overbearing memories.

Grizzly's wet, persistent tongue on her right palm and a bony elbow that urgently nudged her in the ribs made her resurface to the present.

"Squinty," Orla's hissing undertone warned her. Some soldiers were looking in her direction.

Squinty let out a strident gasp as if greedily gulping for air and then stilled.

I won't show how weak I am now. I mustn't draw attention to myself.

Squinty's bright blue eyes became almost steel-grey as she straightened her shoulders. She regained her focus, just to spite the world around her. Pieces of intermittent conversation flew over her like stones fired from a catapult.

"My ... My ... Leader," the kneeling man was stuttering, his head bowed. "I, I, I, I ..."

"Someone should hit him on the back. Maybe then he would cough up the rest of the sentence," Borna said in a honeyed, oiled tone of voice. "Get up. You make me sick."

Behind him, Squinty noticed, Radan and Wolfgrik appeared out of the blue. But it was almost as if they weren't there. Both the man-at-arms and the winged acorn were silent, with solemn expressions on their faces.

They won't step in, thought Squinty.

Grizzly growled and looked at her with a question mark in his eyes.  Squinty shook her head. There was nothing to be done. That was enough for the horse-sized War Dog. He slumped back into the dirt, seemingly calm, wagging his tail. Only Squinty knew Grizzly was lying in wait.

He is The Leader. And he will do with the man as he pleases. He has more power than any of us. But why? Why is it so? That irked Squinty beyond belief, and the thought wouldn't leave her alone.

Age and position are everything. The older you are, the more privileged you are. The richer you are, the more decisions you get to make. It was the rule in The Orphanage, too. For a moment, I actually believed I had escaped that rotten place. 

And here I am, learning that the entire world is The Orphanage.

She was so deep in thought she hadn't even noticed Orla's fingers digging into her palm. One side glance at the pale, mousy girl told her how terrified she was. Squinty hesitantly squeezed her hand back with a frown. She wasn't the one for offering solace, but her companion was merely too miserable-looking.

The sound of a boot connecting with tender stomach flesh reverberated across a temporary makeshift camp.

"Get up, I said!" Borna repeated once more. Squinty could now see the man's face.

Canary-yellow adorning his parched lips was diluted with the transparency of liquid from his body.  The man forced himself to his feet. There was an unmistakable curious circle forming around The Leader and the unfortunate soldier. 

The light of the already lit torches gave their faces an otherworldly visage.

"For how long?" was all Borna asked.

"Since the start of the march," the man replied, trembling in earnest. "You know ... I ... I just came back from the escort mission to The River Tebesum, my Leader. And ... And the war declaration to Begi ... Well ..." he licked his lips. "It all happened so soon. Some of my wounds didn't have time to heal. You made us march ... Almost the entire Light, five Lights in a row. I was exhausted. It was just ... Just this once, I promise. I know how harshly you look upon strot users."

Borna said nothing. He spat in the dust.

The silence seemed to have frightened the young man even worse than any words or actions The Leader might have undertaken. He babbled on, with the look of one lost in his thoughts and ramblings. "And it really helps, my ... My Prince. I mean, my Leader. Whenever I took some, every bad feeling, every pain would disappear. I felt ... I felt like I could walk incessantly for hours, for Lights."

"No soldier of mine will use that garbage. It helps, of course, it helps. But it's a short-term help," Borna was determined. "In the long run, your body's tiredness catches up to you, and you can barely lift a spear, let alone fight. I could never truly count on you in the battle to come," he added derisively.

Squinty couldn't help but agree with that statement, no matter how much she grew to despise Borna. Strot was something she would never try.

I rely on myself. On myself only, she repeated, now clenching her dirty hands into fists.

"It's ... It's not ..."

"Look at yourself!" The Leader of Lagad shrieked. "Look at yourself! Reduced to a babbling, sweating, useless heap of meat. And as such ..." Borna let those words hang ominously in the air. "I have no more need of you. You occupy someone else's space. You eat real soldiers' food rations and drink real soldiers' water for nothing. War is a dangerous thing. I need every able-bodied man to help me avenge the unfortunate death of my sister. Your body is anything but able."

"He is going to execute him," Orla squealed, shivering next to Squinty.

Both girls felt powerless. One of them was sad, the other one angry at having to stand and watch while someone snuffed yet another life out.

Realisation dawned on the soldier's face. He threw himself onto the ground, grabbing Borna's leg and howling in pain. "No. No ... Nooooo! My Leader, listen ... I...," his tongue darted in between his lips. "Please don't do this. I can give you names ... Many names. I am not the only one in this!" he screamed, looking around as many Vigils retreated into the shadows.

They slowly left the scene, avoiding being lit by the accusatory torches of the implacable Leader's eyes.

"There is ... Snippet and ... and Brownlee ... They sell strot all over the encampment for water rations," more and more names kept rolling from the poor convict's mouth.

Traitor, Squinty thought. What a man wouldn't do to save his own hide.

A pleased smile would dance on Borna's lips whenever a new name would pop out. He would then nod towards his royal escort, almost imperceptibly. Yet another "culprit" would be dragged away.

The soldier finally fell silent, still rolling in the dust, smelling of his own excrement.

"Thank you for that ... Enlightening speech. It was just what I needed to purify my army. A Leader needs to let healthy green grass grow and choke out all that ... nasty weed."

"So ... So I can leave now, my Leader?" the man half-stood up, sensing a speck of benevolence.

"Maybe ..." Orla whispered to Squinty, barely audible. "Maybe at least he'll survive."

"No way. He will never let him walk free. He used him for information, don't you see?" Squinty was angry at Orla's silliness. But then something happened that puzzled even her.

"Of course. You are free to go, my good man," Borna helped him up and even brushed some specks of dust off of his uniform.

The soldier jumped on his feet, blindly grabbing Borna's hands. He randomly kissed his fingers as a sign of gratitude. "Thank you, thank you so much, my Leader. I promise you won't regret it."

"You are one of the archers, aren't you?" came the question out of nowhere.

The man nodded, now perplexed.

"Even better!" a mad glee illuminated The Leader's features. "You shall also take part in the public execution of all the culprits, alongside my best long-distance fighters. You must kill the vice yourself."

The man gasped and brought his hands to his face.

"How cruel!" tears rolled down Orla's cheeks. Squinty could see her gulp repeatedly. Orla looks like she is trying not to expel her Second Meal in front of everyone.

"And after that, as a prize for your invaluable information and collaboration ... You are free to help yourself with extra rations of water and food. But remember, if I catch you using strot one more time ... It will be you on the other side of the flying arrows," The Leader concluded.

"He's done for," Squinty's eyebrows arched. "If the rest of The Vigils don't kill him soon for the traitor he is ... His guilt will eat him away. He'll probably kill himself."

"What are you saying?" said Orla, horrified.

"I know I would," Squinty confirmed matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't you? I would never betray one of my own," she added ferociously.

"Everyone can now see I award loyalty more than anything!" Borna's voice rose once more above their heads. "Whoever possesses any information about strot users should come to me. I shall princely reward them."

Squinty knew nothing about strot users since she mostly kept herself to herself.

Even if I did, she thought, I would never say anything. Ever.

It surprised neither Orla nor her to see Odon as one of The Vigils who approached Borna with smarmy smiles.  He was offering information for personal benefit.

"He is just a butt-kissing sleazebag." Squinty frowned, as she and Orla were returning to their campfire. 

Nothing has attacked them at night yet, but one could never be too cautious. Not a long time went by, and they had the opportunity to enjoy their Leader's voice once more.

"The Execution will commence momentarily. I will select long-distance fighters personally," Borna said.

Orla sat on the ground unmoving, like a rock.

"Go," Squinty pinched her and pushed her towards the group. "You have to go," she repeated more urgently.

"I ... I can't ... I won't. Maybe he won't see me. I mean, he can't mean ... Some of us are just kids and ..."

"He means all the soldiers. You must be there, or you will raise suspicion. He probably won't even pick you," Squinty said reassuringly.

The Vigils had already prepared everything at a small clearing. Almost fifty tied up bodies stared back at their spectators, spouting swearwords in their naked helplessness. Close to the convicted soldiers stood the man who had just betrayed them, with the bow at the ready, his fingers trembling.  The soon-to-be victims actually directed most of the profanities at him, and that didn't surprise Squinty at all.

More and more long-distance fighters were approaching. Squinty could unmistakably see Orla in the mass. Her pale blond hair was making her clearly distinguishable.

That, and the fact she couldn't stop crying.

Damn it. She'll ruin everything, Squinty thought. 

Other archers stared at the little girl whose face was adorned with huge teardrops.

"And what do we have here?" Borna stood in front of Orla now. "All of this makes you sad, doesn't it? You wish to run back home to your mommy and daddy, don't you? All these poor men are going to die ..." The Leader mocked Orla openly, and many Vigils laughed outright with him.

Squinty almost rushed towards Orla, but the expression on Radan's face stopped her. It told her to remain calm. She trusted that acorn and his tiny inhuman eyes. Squinty knew she mustn't do anything.

His message was clear.

I mustn't draw attention to myself.

"What is your name?" the Leader inquired.

"O ... O-r-rla," she muttered without raising her head.

"Well, Orla, I think it's time you toughened up. I don't need strot users in my army, that's for sure. But I don't need wimps, either. You are a Vigil now. The Vigils obey orders. The Vigils don't have time to cry. Or to feel merciful. They only do what I tell them. You are all merely tools in my hands. Pawns on a chessboard which I move as I please. And you'd better learn that. Step up here."

Orla staggered towards him as if trying her best to obey. Then she fainted.

Squinty was now restraining herself with all her might. Don't ... do... anything. Orla will suffer no physical harm.

Squinty knew this moment would produce a painful emotional scar. She also knew Orla would and could deal with it later in The Big Ones to come.

Borna took the temporarily limp body into his arms. He placed Orla back on the ground, in the upright position. "She will snap out of it in no time," he added, unnerved, and lightly tapped her cheeks.

Several seconds later, that almost seemed like an eternity to Squinty, Orla did open up her eyes. Then she resumed her pitiful walk towards the designated spot.

"Now, Orla, what is your weapon of preference?" Borna asked her as if this was merely a class, a rehearsal, and he, her teacher.

"Sss-slingshot," she barely had the strength to mutter under her breath.

"Is she any good?" The Leader directed this question to Wolfgrik who nodded.

"We are about to find out, aren't we? I want you to have the honours of shooting first. Shoot anyone who you wish; I am not picky. But know one thing. You fail, and this man dies," The Leader added, motioning towards the traitor.

Orla stood still and unmoving as a rock as her eyes met with the pleading gaze of a man next to her. She then pulled out her slingshot slowly as if she were in a dreamlike state.

"Good girl. You know how it's done. The five words you always have to repeat to yourself. The mantra you know by heart.

Ready.

Nock.

Mark.

Draw.

Loose."

Everything was over so fast.

Many minutes later, both girls were sitting at the campfire, sipping hot goulash in silence. The camp messenger informed them that the rest wasn't to last entire Dark at all. Borna made the break only so he could deal with the traitors. Then he meant for them to continue their march through The Dark, carrying torches to illuminate their paths.

The Leader was holding his glorious speech. 

Lone words reached the girls now and then, but they just sat and stared at the flames without reacting. Their War Dogs were at their feet. Grizzly was resting, and Jewel was persistently licking his Vigil's face. It was the same campfire they were at half an hour ago, but everything was different now.

Odon had previously swooped in for the kill. "That was some shooting, wooden girl! Bullseye, straight to the forehead! You continue like that, and I might come to respect you more with time!" Neither of them reacted to his gleeful comments which eventually made him leave.

"I killed a man," Orla said. And then she took another, the final sip of scorching broth.

They both stood up and checked their equipment and their rucksacks. The two girls doused the flames with their light leather boots, ready to get a move on, as the last words of their Leader echoed around the campsite.

"Mount your War Hounds, Lagadians! We march, march forward, never stopping, towards The Tartan Tower! We march for Begi, and we shall soon drink the water from their bodies. We shall feast on their liquids! Those traitors offered a pact to my family and then killed my youngest sister. It's time to make them pay. Follow me, to the victory! The City of Lagad will destroy the towers of Begi and make them kneel before us like the turncoats they are!"

The Wellers, who had previously missed the entire execution, crawled out from the underground. The Mole Men positioned themselves in front of The Vigils. The Vigils mounted up their War Dogs. The beasts reared up and let out a howl; their massive furry heads held high. After a short, seemingly uneventful pause, the army of Lagad was yet again ready to move.

The centipede continued to roll forward slowly, persistently, towards the dark shape in front of them.

The Tartan Tower was about to fall.