25 January, Volovan desert
The age of the gray Civil War-era bus was evident in its lack of built-in air conditioning, so the bus was as an oven on wheels, equipped only with a handful of faltering and sputtering fans macgyvered onto the metallic ceiling. The outdated airflow mechanisms only had the strength to circulate the stench of stale body odor throughout the bus, and did little to cool the bus’ passengers down, Zurab among them. Turning his head right to gaze outside the window, Zurab could see the shimmering hazy heatwaves that emanated off the sands of Volova. Far off in the distance, those same heatwaves coalesced together and gave off the illusion of water; a shimmering lake, always too far away to reach. He focused for a time on the mild fascination of the mirage to distract him from the overwhelming smell of old leather and sweat, but in the end the affront to his senses was too much. He turned his attention left where his newfound acquaintance Yaeris sat, looking equally uncomfortable. With only the bus’ aisle to look at, the elf looked entirely resigned, having conceded to sit quietly and suffer through the hours-long ride. The rumble of the bus served as white noise, making it difficult to hear much of anything. Nonetheless, Zurab felt the urge to say something to Yaeris.
“Where do you call home?”
Yaeris snapped out of his funk, and turned to Zurab. He quickly responded, “Oh, Novugdidi. Have you ever been?”
Zurab, eager to have something else to do, said, “We visited once to see the Melit’hasa palace, but that was years ago. Is it still around? Or has the fighting, you know, destroyed it?”
Yaeris’ eyebrows raised at the implication, either in surprise or reassurance, Zurab couldn’t tell. The elf responded with, “Oh, the palace still stands, I doubt anyone will touch it since it means so much to so many Volovan elves.” Yaeris’ eyes drifted down in ponderance and continued, “Then again, what’s sacred anymore after Salovia’s collapse?”
A short pause hung in the air. It pulled Zurab back to the terrible stench before Yaeris filled the gap and asked, “What about you? Where’s your home?”
His home? Zurab was born in a small town where he knew everyone and everyone knew him, though he was not very keen on going back. Too many painful memories. Besides, his mother fled his hometown for Volutsku during the outbreak of the war. Zurab had enlisted before they fled, so he never had spent time there. It was just his mother and sister there. So where was home?
He let out a sigh and said curtly, “Here, I suppose.”
Yaeris offered a consolatory nod. “I understand. My home hasn’t felt the same since my mother passed. It feels… hollow now.”
Zurab’s eyebrows raised at the mention and replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. How long ago?”
Yaeris’ eyes grew distant. He said, “It’s been a few months. Her death was the reason I joined.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Some SPA rats raided our house for supplies and knocked her in the head when she tried to stop them. But they hit her too hard.” Yaeris’ eyes glazed over as he said, “She never woke up.”
Zurab tried not to think of her own mother while listening. The thought about that inevitable loss, compounded with the idea of such a death not only being premature but also preventable, pulled at his chest. What do you even say to someone who loses a loved one so dear to them?
“I’m sorry.”
Yaeris accepted the condolence. “It’s fine. I’m here now, and I’m going to find the fuckers that killed her and make them suffer.”
Yaeris’ face darkened, his eyes looking ahead with a bitterness to be wary of. Zurab felt it would be best to drop the subject. It seemed Zurab found something distracting enough from the smell of the bus, somber as it was. He turned back to the window and watched the world scroll by, further things seemingly moving slower than closer things. His eyes jumped from one thing to another as objects zipped past his field of view. Zurab kept at this for a little while, the heat of the bus weighing heavy on him…
He looked around and noticed the bus had left him in the desert. After a moment of frustration, he started walking toward where the bus was going. He swore he could see it driving off in the distance, though he couldn’t be sure; it was too hazy to tell. The heat bared down on him, making him sweat profusely. To his consternation, the perspiration began drizzling down his face uncontrollably. He put his hand above his eyes to try to keep the water out of his face, but it simply ignored his hands, running straight through them. It was getting worse; he desperately bent his head downward to face the sand to keep the water from getting in his eyes. He watched the water gradually pool into a puddle. The blackness of the puddle unnerved him. Suddenly, an arm reached out from the puddle and pulled him in it. He fought to keep the arm from pulling him down further, but it was of no use. He watched the light from the surface shrink. Flailing, he turned downwards to see who or what had pulled him in. And there in the darkness glowed those beautiful amber eyes, taunting him. They pierced his heart as if the God of Love himself stabbed him.
Yaeris smiled and said, “You’re up, Zurab. Zurab? Take up.”
Take up? What does that mean?
Yaeris let go of Zurab’s leg and finally said, “Wake. Up. Zurab.”
Zurab snapped awake. The smell of the bus returned to his senses and disgruntlement reentered his mind.
Yaeris said, “We’re almost there. Figured I should wake you up before we get to the checkpoint.”
Then, as if the bus hit him, Zurab realized he had fallen asleep leaning on Yaeris’ shoulder. His ears reddened as he said, “Sorry, didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. How long was I out?”
Yaeris smiled eerily similar to the Yaeris in his dream and said, “You fell asleep for almost an hour. I didn’t want to disturb you, though. You looked like you needed the rest.”
The sentiment only served to further flush Zurab’s face. He responded, “I wish I could say I rested. Had a weird dream about the bus leaving me behind and… some other nonsense about a puddle in the desert.”
Yaeris tilted his head. “A puddle in this desert? You mean mirages, surely.”
“No, like a genuine puddle that pooled on the ground from…” Zurab trailed off, his eyes scrunching at the bizarre nature of that scene.
Yaeris gave off a look of intrigue and asked, “From what?”
Zurab’s embarrassment only grew at the insistence of an answer. Yet he couldn’t let Yaeris know about the feelings that manifested themselves into his dream. He lied, “I’m not sure.”
There was a quiet pause between the two. After some time passed, they looked ahead through the front windshield, and watched the desert give way to civilization. The density of buildings increased as they approached their destination, finally turning down a road that had been retrofitted into a gate. The gate blocked the rest of the road that led into the It’olvisi suburbs of Nats’ichi, originally built during the Great War to house Tivotian refugees during the Tivot’s occupation by the Imperial powers. Over time, the cheaply built multistory adobe abodes were transformed into a ghetto of Biramuran immigrants during the Auroran Imperial War and the Melit’hasa during the Civil War. It’olvisi came to be synonymous with strife and struggle in Volova. It was surprising the original buildings were still standing at all, given the number of wars that they had survived through. Yet here they stood in spite of the world that viewed its inhabitants as a stain upon society.
The loud clunk of the bus door sent everyone’s heads snapping toward the front of the bus. A soldier carrying an automatic rifle in the safe hang position stepped onto the bus, and checked the driver’s documents. After doing so, the soldier plodded down the bus aisle, purportedly scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Zurab looked ahead, waiting for the soldier to finish his security check, but suddenly the steps stopped. He turned his head to see what was going on, when he saw the soldier looming over Yaeris. His look of repulsion said everything that needed to be said. Elves weren’t nearly as well respected as humans and cava in Volova, and it showed in how the Melit’hasa had been treated for decades, especially in the very ghettos they were about to enter. Yaeris hadn’t made eye contact with the soldier, but the dejected look in his eyes told Zurab that Yaeris already knew what the soldier was about to do.
“Random check. Adeki, privates.”
The order to stand up was promptly followed by both Zurab and Yaeris.
The soldier growled, “Out in the hallway, elf.”
The pat-down was quick and half-assed, evident that this was a guise for the true reason Yaeris was brought out. The soldier leaned into Yaeris’ ear and whispered something that served to further darken Yaeris’ already sour countenance.
“Sit down now, elf.”
Yaeris coldly replied, “Yes, sir,” and proceeded to sit back down next to Zurab, his face frozen, emotionless.
The security officer called to the driver, “All cleared to proceed, sir!” without finishing the security check. He trudged back out of the bus, letting the vehicle roll through the checkpoint.
Zurab looked back out the window and saw the security officer among his comrades, looking upward towards Zurab’s window, his face twisted in jovial laughter at having humiliated the elf.
Zurab, concerned for Yaeris, cautiously asked, “What did that guy say to-”
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, Zurab. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Yaeris certainly didn’t look fine at all, but he made it abundantly clear he did not want to talk about the altercation. His arms crossed over themselves and slumped further into the seat.
A short distance further, the bus parked near a building much more modern than the rest of the adobe surrounding it. Upon parking, the bus’ hydraulics hissed in relief. The bus finally settled, the driver stood up and announced, “Alright, we’ve arrived at the processing facility. Everyone will line up outside and await further instruction from your assigned leadership!” At this, the door opened.
One by one, the passengers disembarked, breathing in the fresher air of the desert, absent of rank body odor yet unfortunately clogged with dust and sand. Nonetheless Zurab felt rejuvenated as he stepped off the bus, free of the stench. He looked around and saw his comrades perambulating to an empty area left of the entrance to the brutalist government building, awaiting further directions as ordered. Zurab and Yaeris found themselves on the outer edges of the group, giving the two a view of the larger-than-life door as it opened. Through it, six timeworn commanders walked out in formation, followed by the military installation’s lead commander. The commander was remarkable; visibly muscular for her small stature, her sharp and piercing green eyes a testament to her ambition, her wrinkles tracing through her dark skin evidence not of her age but of a high-stress occupation; a sign of unwavering perseverance. Most notably, she was Melit’hasa. Truly, the title Commander snuggly fit her like a glove as she cadenced to what she decided was the front of the conglomeration of fresh meat, the six other officers lining up behind her. Stopping midway, her eyes turned to scan the group, and deemed them unworthy.
“Did you lot learn nothing from your training?!” She came to attention and boomed, “FORM UP!”
A wave of chills ran through Zurab as he instinctively formed curtly into a grid with the rest of the group, all of them stood to attention.
The Commander, pleased with the rapid response, fell out of attention and began pacing. As she walked to and from one side of the group to the other, she announced, “My name is Commander Eleria Iraklidze. You will all address me as ‘Ma’am,’ ‘Commander Iraklidze,’ or ‘Commander.’ Do you ingrates understand?”
A collective and automatic “Yes, ma’am.” sounded from the formation.
Iraklidze’s stern countenance relaxed some as she acknowledged their submission to her will, saying, “Good. Now, I will let the cadre behind me do their jobs and collect their troops. Welcome to the rest of your miserable lives.”
The cadre did as commanded by Commander Iraklidze. Names were called out, and the formation methodically broke into six smaller parts by the time the sun kissed the horizon, the heat of the day just past its peak.
Zurab’s gut told him the easy part of his journey was over.