The line moved at a snail's pace, and the sun had risen above my head.

Many sat on the scorched paved ground on top of their luggage, using whatever clothes they had as shelter from the sun's fangs. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing, joking, and jeering as if our lives held no meaning. Soldiers moved to block them, pushing them back with violence where necessary, while others silently loaded the train. We were in tightly packed lines so close that every word that left the man's mouth beside me reached my back. We had all melded into the crowd, and only Carson and James were beside me from the village.

James, with his thin, lanky self, couldn't stay still. For one-moment standing and the next sitting down. He was like a peacock showing his feathers, and he caught the attention of men that seemed to oversee us, all dressed differently from the rest.

Three men stood looking at us. One old pod from his fine clothes, top hat, and the black cane in his hand, he was definitely a noble. He had a walrus mustache that he played with one hand. His finger seemed to point in our direction.

The other two beside him seemed distinguished from how the other soldiers addressed and interacted with them. There was a slight resemblance between him and one officer standing closer beside him that looked my age. The old pod called him Albert in a booming voice now and then, as if he were making a point. Albert was averagely built, with a rounded face and clear, light skin. His uniform appeared even better than the other man beside him as if never worn.

"Officers," Carson muttered beside me. He held James by the arm and pulled him down. "We don't want them paying too close attention to him or us."

James sat and scratched his afro hair. "Why is everything taking so long?"

"You see the lines, don't you?" Carson countered.

James raised his thick eyebrow before tapping Carson's protruding stomach. "Can you wait for that long old pod?"

Carson's square face frowned, revealing his double chin and large adam's apple as he pushed away James' hand. "Who you calling an old pod!?"

James turned to those around us. "Will we be out here for three days for them to look at one piece of paper that we can't even read? What does it matter anyway?"

Men close by muttered amongst themselves. Some seemed in agreement, while others remained quiet.

"Lower it down, you fool," Carson said, but, despite that, the soldiers didn't pay us the slightest mind.

My eyes followed down the long lines to the soldiers seated behind tables looking at the stamps I assumed on our papers. Afterward, they pointed to different parts of the train for the recruits to enter.

There had to be a difference that they were reading it. I looked at mine that I held out in my hand, but the words barely made sense. Some letters I made out and many others I did not. My signature stood out; it was the first initial of my name.

"I don't get it," I said.

"As I said, a waste of time," James replied, shielding himself from the sun.

"You're probably overthinking it, Jabari," Carson said, "They are all getting on the train."

I rubbed my sweaty hands into my clothes. No, it has to have some sort of meaning.

"Let me see it," a voice called from behind me.

James and I turned to see an old pod holding his papers in his frail, spotted, pale hands. He carried the drawled Mannorland accent.

"I can read it," he continued, "I can read."

I handed the old pod my paper.

After examining it line by line, he cleared his throat and read. "We assign the recruit to the temporary base Brigs near Blood River's End. He shall begin training immediately for the next three months before deployment. The recruit, by signing this, is to be given eighteen actual upfront and eighteen actual continued each month for his service. Failure to not show on the prescribed date of 18th September 1875 at Mannorland post office station for the train would cause a derelict admission of duty and is punishable by death."

He paused and met my gaze and those of the onlookers as the line crept forward.

"Thank you," I said.

"The soldiers are sending us in different places to different armies," he said.

So they would split all the villagers up. I sighed. So much for sticking together.

"Can you tell me then where these other two are going?" I asked, pointing at Carson and James.

They scrambled to find their papers and handed them to the old prod. The old pod read silently and nodded. "They are heading to the same place as you."

I sighed in relief; from their faces, it was clear they felt the same.

"Are you?" I asked.

"No, I'm going somewhere else. I am much too old to fight war," the old pod muttered.

Before I could ask where others shouted to get his attention, every man asked the old pod to read their letters. Amongst them, he looked peaked.

Blood Rivers End. I had never heard that name before in all my born days, and it didn't sound too inviting.

I watched packed trains leave each in a complaint, and a new one appeared some while later. Men had passed the time singing, chatting, and cards. Some played, and others traded. By the time we had reached the soldiers, the sun was almost setting.

"Next," the young freckled-faced soldier called. He didn't have a Mannorland accent. It was one that I had never heard before.

I moved towards the desk with my luggage in hand.

"Where are you from?" the question fell from my mouth.

"Yellow Reach," he responded.

I sat and handed my papers. James and Carson sat talking to the other soldiers on both my flanks.

"Before we begin, any withholding of the truth is punishable as an offense against the state. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?" the soldier asked.

"Twenty- nine," I said.

"Next of —."

"Do I really have to give my age!?" Carson's cheeks puffed as he shouted to the soldier beside him and stood up. A few other soldiers drew closer, gripping their guns tight. The man responded with a yes before his voice lowered into a muffle as he sat back down. "Forty nine."

"Any next of kin?" the soldier in front of me asked.

"Yes, one, no, two." My eyes met James, who nodded to me with a smile and mirrored my answer. Carson seemed trapped in answering his questions to pay us mine.

"Names?"

I leaned over the desk and whispered, "James and Clive Reckard."

He wrote it down and met my eyes. "Where would you like your mail to be delivered?"

"Althema, Polly Reckard," I answered.

"Any health issues with yourself within the last twelve to fifteen days?"

"No."

"Are you prepared to die for Arigina if necessary for its victory over the war of the land?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been free?"

"Since childhood."

"Have you ever used a gun?"

"No."

His head cocked at me as if it was not a good enough answer.

Finally, the questions ended. The soldier looked at me for one moment and handed me a uniform before pointing towards a train that stood by the post office.

"Second door opened," noticing I did not move — he added, "follow the others."

I got up to James, smiling at me, and followed the men walking towards the second door. From the last glance at those still waiting to leave, I noticed the line had increased since I had been here. Many were still looking on, but the spectacle was from passing now rather than the bitterness from this morning. James and Carson walked to a different train.

I lifted my leg and my luggage and got on the train. The soldiers packed men in tight. The men complained and pushed for air among themselves. I squeezed between them to get my luggage and myself in. Half my body was still outside. A soldier forced me further in to close the door. My luggage barely made it. The heat fumed, encircling the closed area of the surrounding bodies. I struggled to breathe as sweat ran down my brow. Men shouted and banged on the door beside me in protest.

"Are they trying to kill us before we even get to the war!"

"Don't we deserve some better treatment?"

"Quiet down, you will only make things worse!"

However, this had the reverse effect, and men were in a bobbery with each other for space. They seemed to be on the prod. I was on the receiving end of elbows and jabs as they wobbled for space. I hunched down to protect as much of myself as possible.

Men airin' the lungs as the ground below our feet moved. The train wailed down the tracks as if the conductor burned the breeze. Like a dance, men swayed on one another as if they had been in the sun. The only thing keeping us upright in the dark with the flashes of moonlight was each other.

Shadows fell from the men in the train from the swathes of light stabbing each other, mocking, jeering at the behavior of the men, and they laughed — I heard them as they looked at me. I knew they weren't real. I lowered my head further and drowned out the noise.

You're not real. All I need to do is calm down.

It was a long journey and a night of unnecessary violence. When the train finally came to a halt, I had not even had a breath of sleep. My eyes were like weights with the added sensation of slight burning pain. Voices came from the outside in shouts, and crunching footsteps followed. Men stood still, peering through the wooden cracks of the sides to get glimpses. They whispered amongst themselves. The rage throughout the train ride was now dead upon their tongues.

My body was sore from the beatings I had received, and my legs ached from standing. When the door finally opened, blinding light entered, and men tumbled out. I held on to the hairy man next to me with my free hand.

"Sorry," I muttered, watching my foot hang outside the door.

The man gave me a displeased look as he wrestled my hand away. I found my footing and turned, now staring down at the train tracks. Soldiers stood over those who fell. The ones whose uniforms touched the ground — beaten, bloodied with wooden sticks, their arms and legs ravaged.

"Get off the train!" a black soldier on top of a horse shouted. "I am Major Myres. You will not allow that uniform to touch the ground. You will not stain that uniform with your filth. To wear that uniform, you must earn it."

Men filed out with the energy that they didn't have before.

"Line up!" the soldiers outside the train bellowed, waving the butt of their guns and others with wooden clubs.

I jumped down, holding my luggage in my callous hands and ensuring I kept my uniform close to my chest. I squeezed myself into the line that was already forming. Beside the tracks was a burned-down post station. It looked strange as if put to the torch. Had enemies made it this far? Plains surrounded us, but the land was rocky; the first sighting of trees was way off in the distance. Where was the camp? Or was this Blood River's End?

Behind me, men shouted in protest, raising their arms to protect themselves as clubs rained down. I kept my focus in front and bent my eyes to the ground.

"Line up!" Myres shouted while holding the reins of his horse.

I licked my dry lips. Were we not lined up?

I looked to the man on my left and right, noticing that another train had stopped beside ours, and more men were pouring out. They received the same treatment as they formed a long line.

Towering over us, Myres was like a vulture with sharp eyes. Where his finger landed, beatings followed. It surprised me to find a man of my color in power. He had full lips, a broad nose, no beard with thick, styled sideburns, and an egg-shaped head.

"Now, give me two lines!" Myres shouted, the spit shot from his mouth.

Men scrambled to get into formation as the soldier's face seemed to turn into fury. Again, those who were too slow were hit, shoved, or punched by soldiers. It was relentless.

Was this necessary? Were they going to trust us after holding guns?

As we got into the lines, I noticed other soldiers removing cargo from the train. They packed them into wagons. Albert and the other man from yesterday morning were also overseeing us. The men that passed him addressed him as Brigadier General Carper.

Myres ordered us further into three lines, then four. Men reacted quicker than before, and we got into four lines. There was a brief period of silence as green uniformed men on horses rode up and down and soldiers passed through our lines. The ones that stood out were beaten, lines not straight, and men, looking around too much, were beaten. They were treating us like we were lower than dirt.

Myres smiled. "Good, fresh fish, you are learning. Welcome to Blood River's End!"

Everyone in the line remained silent.

"Good work, Major Myres," Brigadier General Carper trod his brown horse forward; he was inches from me before halting. "I am Brigadier General Carper, and you are under my command. The next three to four months will be grueling! We will push you to your limit because we have to get you ready for the enemies that will show no mercy!" His hand outstretched and pointed behind him. "If we can get to the center of this place. Then in Mannorland, no Arigina would reach heights never seen before."

Where were Carson or James? The Brigadier General paused and stared off into the distance. With the break, I noticed none of the surrounding faces I recognized.

"Artemis gazes," he muttered under his breath before heading towards the Major. The two men exchanged words.

"We shall begin marching to camp. We will encourage those too slow to keep up! Remember to stay in the line! We move from the right!" Major Myres trotted his horse forward in the right direction.

"Turn right," the soldiers shouted.

We turned, and the lines followed, heading in the direction where Major Myres went. Soldiers flanked us on foot and horseback. We scrambled to keep up while holding our luggage. The heat laid into us, mocking our pathetic attempt to march. We walked on a consistent path of harsh terrain trials. The rocks even pierced through my boots. Men who did not have mule airs hopped on their feet.

Blame it!

We started at an okay pace but slowly increased. Between the lack of sleep and the march that seemed unending, it was tempting to slow down. The burly man in front of me was doing just that with the heavy luggage he carried for almost three people. He could not continue this, and the further we walked on these rocky plains, he came to an abrupt halt, panting heavy. The line was getting away, and the others on our right and left were moving along. Men complained, fearing more the lash than wanting to move forward. The man kneeled on the ground. Should I pass him? But when a soldier jogged to him, I stopped.

The soldier had a boyish face. He couldn't be over twenty years old, tall, and with a thin frame.

"I can't go on," the burly man said.

"Leave the luggage behind," the soldier replied.

"I can't," the burly man said.

"If you don't move. I will have to hit you." He rubbed his hand on his face, looking back down the line. "Just move on or —."

"These things are all I have off my family, keepsakes. I can't let them go."

The other lines were getting away, and other soldiers were looking on.

The soldier beside the burly man gripped his mace. My head turned away.

"You and the one behind him help him."

"Pardon," I said. My eyes met the soldiers.

"Help him carry the weight."

What?

The burly man turned to me on his knees. "Please, these things are precious to me, it's all I have."

I looked at the rough oval face man behind me, who was about to voice a complaint until the soldier waved his stick.

I picked up a bag and handed it to him. Who now gratefully took it as I took the other one myself. It was heavy, so I took my luggage and wrapped it around my back just to keep this weight centered in front of me. My uniform I kept pressed in between to my chest.

The soldier smiled. "Good teamwork. It's a lot better than the alternative. Now move along."

The burly man got to his feet, almost reinvigorated, and moved.

"Catch back up to that line," the soldier said, moving with us. "Otherwise the entire line gets punished for not keeping up."

"The entire line?"

"Yes," he huffed.

There was a respectful distance between the connections of the line. The line ahead was coming to a crawl as they walked up the top of a hill. I made out the two outlines of both Carson and James' afro hair at the peak.

With what was at stake, we were no longer walking fast — jogging on the brink of running. The men behind us, unaware of what was going on, just followed to keep pace with the burly man at the front.

"How far..." the words stumbled from me under my breath. "How far do we have to go?"

"After that hill will be camp." the soldier exhaled. "Prepare yourself for the worse."

"We have to catch up to them before they finish that hill?"

"Yeah."

Even at this ridiculous pace, I knew we would never catch up to them. From the time we reached the hill, our momentum had died. Sweat caked onto my clothes, and my body felt at its limit as soreness hit my legs. I panted like a dog without water.

"Sorry," the burly man said.

I didn't respond as we got up to the hill. I saw the place where we would be staying. There were many buildings made of wood and tents that littered the outside. It had wooden barricades and stakes with sentries posted into towers. The surrounding area also had towers; one was on top of this very hill. From the outside to me, it resembled a prison, and we were the prisoners. Men had collapsed in front of us along the way from exhaustion. The soldiers paid them no mind as some faces lay on the ground. We walked past them, coming up to the front. My eyes looked back to see that it was not only us that had broken the line, but even those on our right also had a fragmented line that I thought had gotten away from us.

"What will be the punishment?" I asked the soldier.

His eyes met mine. "I don't know but it's teaching you to work as a team and discipline."

"What's your name?"

"Richard and you?"

"Jabari."

He smiled, "don't talk anymore. It could lead to trouble."

I nodded as he shrank away. Soldiers holding rifles flanked both sides of the entrance. We entered, finding the rest of the group beyond exhaustion. Some drank water from an animal feeder. Others sat in the mud, removing blisters from their feet.

I was soaked underneath, and it printed onto my clothes. My free hand scoured through my luggage, and I drank the adam's ale from the canteen.

"Please, water," a man begged beside me, his hand outstretched from the ground.

I handed it to him, and he drank greedily. My legs wobbled, and my eyes trailed everywhere for James and Carson.

The burly man thanked us too many times to count. I had even forgotten that I was holding his luggage. I released it to him, and a rough hand grasped my shoulder.

"We were looking for you everywhere, Jabari," James said.

I turned and half smiled, finding the two looking as wary as me. If we had to face punishment, at least we would be together.