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Dogs The citizens of Secularia often described the Fortress Inconscience as having an inversely proportional relationship between its mass and beauty. At least, that�s what the scholars said. The average man, with his slightly lesser vocabulary said it was, �bigger�n my in-laws, ugly as �em too.� The fortress was large and unnecessarily bulky, its many wings jutting out from its stone body at erratic angles. Some said it resembled an awkward adolescent squid. It housed a mere one hundred and fifty occupants but had been built to house an entire royal court. It had been standing for over three centuries, and at the time of its birth it was built as the king�s winter palace.
That had been a short-lived fantasy. Soon after the construction of the eccentric castle, war had ravaged the land and the boundaries of Secularia shifted. The Fortress Inconscience, rather than lying in the middle of the kingdom, was now an outpost on the southern border. The invading army would have liked to infiltrate further into Secularia to commandeer the fortress, but it was physically impossible. It was stuck in the middle of a deep mud puddle. No living thing could survive in the mix of sewage, mud, and quicksand surrounding the castle, and no commander wanted to risk his army trying. It was a wonder that the inhabitants of the castle survived the conditions.
Most Secularians assumed, when the castle had been built, that the king chose to locate his castle in a bog for personal protection. When asked about his decision, however, he responded with, �I very much wanted to go swimming.� He was overthrown shortly after the war.
The bog didn�t stop everyone, however. In fact, three centuries after its seemingly wasteful construction a messenger could be seen scrambling his way through the swamp. Beneath the thick layer of mud caking his entire body he wore the official orange-hued uniform of Secularia. He was a messenger for the king, and he was about to break the long-standing peace surrounding the Fortress Inconscience.Atticus Alden, commander to the motley group of novice soldiers within the fortress, was relaxing in his chambers with his second-in-command when the messenger burst in quite unannounced. The messenger stood in the doorway, weaving unsteadily on his feet as he clutched his heaving chest. He was sweating profusely, but that did little good beneath the layer of mud and debris that formed a shell over his small frame. His eyes were frantic and wild like an antelope that had just escaped the jaws of a lion; his gaze continuously darted around the room as though he expected to be ambushed by a small army hiding beneath the floorboards. He looked half-drowned and half-dead.
Atticus either didn�t notice the precarious condition of the messenger or he didn�t care. He pushed himself out of his heavy wooden chair, his muscles rippling as he puffed out his chest in a show of bravery and prowess. �What news have you brought to us?� he inquired, his act of dominance slightly deterred as his voice chose the most inopportune moment to squeak. Instead of looking a fearless leader, he gave off the image of an adolescent trying to become a man during the brunt of puberty. Atticus cleared his throat hastily, attempting to repent for his insufficient masculinity by pushing his chest out yet farther and deepening his voice to its lowest depths. �Who sent you?� he boomed ominously.
Likewise, the messenger either didn�t notice Atticus� petty act or he didn�t care. �The king!� he gasped. �Message!� He pulled from his tunic a neatly folded piece of parchment that, somehow, had remained immaculately free of mud. He stumbled forward to deliver it to Atticus� hand, but his unsteady feet caught on a footstool sitting inside the door. He fell to the floor with a loud crash, too decrepit to even prevent his head from catching the edge of a large chest. He surrendered to unconsciousness and fatigue, never to awaken again.
Latimer, second-in-command, rushed to the side of the fallen messenger. �Atticus, maybe we should - �
�Don�t bother yourself with him!� Atticus interrupted. �Business from the king is far more important!� He bent down, scooping up the letter from the limp fingers of the messenger. He tore it open vigorously, eyes hungrily taking in every letter printed upon the parchment. His look of eagerness faded into sheer panic. The letter fell from his numbing fingers, floating gracefully like a feather to rest on the floor.
Latimer�s worries were taken from the messenger the moment he saw the look on Atticus� face. Atticus was never one to be alarmed, always diving headlong into dangerous situations as though it came naturally to him. �Atticus? You look you just seen a herd o� cattle eatin� your entire winter harvest! What�s the king�s news?� Latimer didn�t bother picking up the letter to read the information for himself; he was illiterate, as were the other soldiers ranked below Atticus.
In an instant Atticus seemed to regain mobility. He began pacing frantically, incoherent mutterings puttering from his lips. Latimer cocked his head in bewilderment.
�Atticus?�
�Latimer!� Atticus started as if realizing Latimer was there for the very first time. �Latimer, are you a religious man?�
�Sir, I�m not sure I�m followin� you. What does the king�s news have to do with me bein� or not bein� a Godly man?�
�Answer the question. Are you a spiritual man?�
�Well, I guess you could say that, yeah. I believe he�s up there, anyway.� Latimer sat down on Atticus� unoccupied chair, trying to prepare himself for whatever it was that brought Atticus to such an agitated state. Atticus had never before spoke of religion, and it made Latimer feel more than a little unnerved. He had never asked for Latimer�s opinion, either, and that only made the situation worse.
Atticus continued his nervous pacing; a million different tangents of thoughts racing around his head like little angry bees. �Would you ever kill a messenger of God in self-defense?� He sat down heavily at the foot of his bed, locking his unblinking stare on his companion.
�Well, sir,� Latimer scratched his head nervously, �I don�t suppose I ever would. I�d just let �em do to me whatever they had planned, I reckon.�
Atticus seemed to grow only more agitated by his answer. �Why?� he demanded, sounding angry.
�It�s like this, see: I�m no monk, and I guess I don�t know much about God, neither. I can�t say I�d be all together all right with killin� one of his people, though. To me, God�s like a neighbor out in the country. He�s out there, and I see signs of him from time to time, but I hardly know �im, and I don�t really worry myself too much about him. I�m awful thankful that he helped out with last year�s harvest, but most of the time I don�t really need him, and he don�t concern himself with me, neither.� Latimer paused, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. �But say this neighbor o� mine had a couple of dogs. The dogs loved him, and he loved them. Everywhere he went there were the dogs. They�re mighty loyal to �im, see. What if I was to go and kill one of those dogs? Well, he�d have a right good reason to come after me.�
A silence settled over the room as Atticus mulled over what had been shared. �Call the troops to the dining room,� he said, reverting back into the brave commander of the Fortress Inconscience. �I�ll be there in a moment to deliver the news.�
Latimer nodded and, after calling up the servants to attend to the forgotten messenger, he left Atticus to his thoughts.
Atticus was a self-educated man. He�d grown up on a small farm with his parents and five siblings, and from a young age he knew he was destined to great things. He was always the leader, the fighter, and the protector. In fact, he was a little over-zealous. He had joined the army at a young age, wanting to find excitement and adventure outside his own wheat field. He�d often pick fights with his fellow soldiers, or cause a ruckus in every town he stopped in, all in the name of adventure. After only a year in the army, he had been given a sudden � and rather mysterious � promotion that sent him to the Fortress Inconscience as a commanding officer. It was the only place where he couldn�t cause trouble, and for the thirteen years he had been stationed there he had been tragically bored. He had been so desperate for a sense of purpose that he would gather his men and hold contests to see who could survive in the mud and sewage outside the castle the longest. He often ignored protests and common sense when they were floated his way, relying instead on his own mind and his mind alone. He was often called pompous and insensitive. It had been a monumental step for him to ask for Latimer�s input. Something was most definitely askew.
The dining hall was full to brimming with the assorted soldiers, maids, and servants of the fortress. Rarely did a visitor from anywhere visit the fortress, and they were all waiting with nervous anticipation to hear the news. While gathering them, Latimer had made a careful move not to let on that the news seemed to be bad. There was no use in riling everyone up and startling them.
The excited buzz of over one hundred bodies slowly died down as Atticus made his way to the head table. His face was somber and there was a determined air about him that seemed to spread to the entire audience. Everyone was on pins and needles as he took his place at the table, remaining on his feet while the others settled themselves on the assortment of benches scattered throughout the hall.
Atticus closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He was about the change the lives of his men, and that was not an easy task to perform. �The time has come,� he said, �to put your training as soldiers to use.�
The buzz erupted again, every head turning to whisper in alarm to his or her neighbor. One of the soldiers near the back of the hall stood up, catching the attention of the murmurs and ultimately ending them. �Why for?� he asked, starting a wave of heads nodding in agreement with is challenge. �No army has ever attacked us here.�
�This is no army!� Atticus shot the soldier an angry scowl. �I received a letter from the king only a candlemark ago. Our neighbors from the south have begun a holy crusade, a mission to create the world�s only religious empire.� There were beads of nervous sweat forming on Atticus� brow. The further he dove into the news, the more his stomach knotted. �We have a gaggle of holy crusaders headed this way, and fast!�
There was no buzz; the aggregation was shocked beyond words. Only Latimer, who was seated at the high table beside Atticus, spoke up. �What are they armed with, sir? How are they going to attack?�
Another tense moment passed as the soldiers, maids, and servants shifted anxiously, watching Atticus� every move, every twitch. �They have,� Atticus paused, letting a fresh breath fill his lungs for the big moment. Even the air had a disquieted taste to it. �They have�holy water.�
The congregation gasped. Their faces shifted as one, each expression letting the initial shock fade and newly acquired panic arise.
The soldier who spoke up earlier was once more on his feet. He was now yelling with fright. �You mean�?!�
�Yes�� came Atticus� whispered reply. �Yes, I�m afraid so.� There was not a trace of the protector or warrior in him now; he was as frightened and panicked as the rest of his company. He spoke again, each word seeming to rise higher and higher into the octave of a doomed man. �They mean to baptize us!�
The soldier jumped onto one of the benches, standing up against an imaginary foe. �But we are not of their faith!� he screeched.
A single tear trailed down Atticus� cheek. �We will be by the end of this war,� he lamented. His entire body gave in and he collapsed to the floor, crumpled up like a discarded tissue as he surrendered to defeat. His voice retreated back to a hoarse, cracked whisper. �We will be.�