Tempest
A Terah Short Story by Chaaya Chandra
Lady General Sajani Adida was never comfortable in her office. Three of the walls were covered with oak paneling and the fourth was made of gray stone with a huge fireplace in the center. She never lit it. Vharkylia didn’t have fireplace weather very often, especially not in Drtithen. She was haunted by a constant desire to open the window on the opposite side, but if she did, the small chandelier over her desk would sound off like a hundred tiny bells. When she first moved in, she turned her desk to face the window, which gave her a nice view of the outside and a side view of the door. That position had the side benefit of making it so the huge picture of her mother hanging on the wall opposite the door was behind her.
The painting was of the type that really annoyed her. She remembered her mother as being about the same height as she… back when the Minister of War was eight. The paintings always got the smile wrong, instead basing it on the wry look the lady general usually wore. The eyes were distant and detached, lacking the passion that did not fade with memory. It was more like looking at a mirror than it was looking at the mother she lost.
The question that’d been plaguing her the last day came once again, unbidden. What would my mother do? The forces attacking Zenache were far superior to anything the copper wolf could imagine. The (technically) allied country had a military three times the size of Vharkylia, using up to 25% of their national budget. Their request for aid was desperate, not even attempting the usual decorum of prior missives.
She activated the measures put into place early in her tenure and almost all feral communities were being called into action. That allowed her to move the three divisions near Altaza directly to the border and replace them with militia units. The Rhidayan ambassador had a meeting with her scheduled later that afternoon. They’d need permission to fly the units over that country.
Her mother would fight and so would she. There were thirty days where she could do what she felt necessary before receiving legislative approval. She’d use all those days to the fullest.
The door opened and in walked her aid. Lieutenant Bamalis was shorter than she, but stockier with gray fur and an impossibly well pressed uniform. “Frins,” Sajani said amiably, “did the Rhidayan ambassador happen to…”
The first words she could see of the paper he dropped on her desk were, “unconditional surrender.”
Balmalis’ next words summed up her fears. “Zenache has fallen.”
She skimmed through the communique. It outlined the terms of the country’s surrender, which included the termination of their agreement with Vharkylia. Sajani had never heard of terms as absolute as these in the last few centuries. No sovereignty. No independence. Complete lockdown of all civilians. Scribbled at the bottom was a note. “Vykati are to report for ‘assessment.’”
A quiet rage came to the lady general’s face. Whoever this enemy was, they were attempting to limit communication with her country. There was no other reason the last part would be scribbled like that: the Zenache were much too formal. This note had to be approved by the enemy and someone felt the need to let them know they needed to fight. Whoever this new enemy was, they saw her people as a threat.
She’d been focused on the letter so missed what her aid was saying. “…scheduled press conference…”
He didn’t get a chance to continue. The press conference was about to start and there was no way she’d leave this to her staff. It wasn’t right. True, she never addressed the press if she could help it, but this was different. “Let Tandy know I’ll cover it this time. Hurry.”
Bamalis ran from the room and Sajani turned to face the painting of her mother. “We will fight mother,” she whispered. “Vharkylia will remain free. I know what I need to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll meet them head on, in person. This enemy will know the wrath of an Adida.”
She turned and left the room quickly and headed to the briefing area. The room was much larger than her office and had the same stiff oak paneling she hated. Her press secretary, Tandy, was standing at the podium at the far end and Bamalis was talking to her. The tan furred wolf looked up and cleared her throat as the copper wolf entered the room. “Members of the press, the Minister of War of the dynast nation of Vharkylia.” She stepped away from the podium quickly. Lieutenant Bamalis also stepped back.
The room became perfectly quiet. She expected whispered surprise from the reporters, since she never talked to them, but instead it was deathly quiet. Sajani placed her hands on the podium and took a deep breath, knowing the response she’d get from her next words. “Zenache has fallen to an unknown enemy.”
Just as she expected, the room exploded with shouts of panic and disbelief. She glared at the wolf closest to her; the reporter quieted and nudged the one next to her. Sajani continued her stare as they all quieted one at a time.
After a moment of silence, one reporter thrust his hand into the air. Sajani recognized him. He was from the Drtithen Gazette and was constantly hounding her staff to get an interview with the copper wolf. “No” said nearly a hundred or a thousand times would never be enough.
She called on him. “Are they going to attack Rhidayar and us as well?” The minister of war glared at him. “What information I’ve received implies that they do not hold us or any other nation in high regard.”
“And what is Vharkylia’s response?”
The question angered her slightly, but she held her composure. How would a nation of wolf people respond to the threat of war? Was he seriously unsure, or was he just looking for something to quote for the paper?
“I cannot speak for the nation in matters of war,” she said carefully. “I’ve readied our army and militia and have already moved some forces to the Rhidayan border. The wolf pack and our feral volunteers stand ready to protect the wolves of Vharkylia, as they have always done.”
A few hands shot up, but she ignored them. “It is not the duty of the minister of war to make decisions beyond national defense. The rest will be worked out by the Riteyai Lords and the Drtithen Council.”
A few tried to blurt out questions, but she ignored that as well. “Silence!” It was much more imperious than she was used to, but it worked. “Tell the people that the daughter of Malita Adida stands ready. While our military must wait for the decisions of bureaucrats, I’ll not allow the grass to grow under my paws. I will fight for the wolves of Vharkylia. A decade and a half ago, my mother gave her life for them. From that time forward I have lived for them.”
Pencils were scribbling feverishly as she spoke. Good. She knew what her people needed to hear at this moment. They’d believe what she said, even if she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.
“Tell the people that the daughter of Malita Adida stands between them and their enemies. Tell them that yes, we’re heading into a time of darkness and storms. Other nations might stumble and doubt, but Vharkylia will do as it has always done; we’ll not surrender to those troubles. We’ll not allow fear to govern us. We’ll face these times with our claws and teeth bared and our heads held high. What we’ve built together in this nation is worth fighting for. I will not give it up freely and expect that neither will any of you. This I will defend. Kra’la al’ark.”
Ending with the national motto was necessary. As she turned from the podium something unexpected happened. The jaded press, the people who she strived so hard to avoid, rose and applauded. A celebratory howl was started, and she found herself answering it as she walked out the door.
They didn’t seem to notice she’d never specifically said what she planned on doing. The truth was she didn’t know yet. All she knew was that she would fight, even if it was just her doing the fighting.
