A Soldier With a Familiar Name

The mud caking Jacob's boots irked him to no ends. He wanted so desperately to clean it, but a stream wasn't meant to be in the plans for many miles to come. They were nearly at Writha Pass, just a day or two's march. That, however, was by Commander Ericksson's ridiculous standards. The men in the Fourth Infantry were exhausted, the sergeants and corporals struggling to maintain order among them. Figuring that since everyone avoided him like the plague anyway, Jacob decided to experiment with a magic he had only recently tested. Water.

Siphoning water molecules from the air, Jacob manually condensed them using a great share of his mana. The fortunate thing about all the magic he'd been casting in the past few months to help build foundations and other mundane chores was that he got a really good feel for his limits.

The water responded, becoming a liquid. Now he moved the orb to his shoes, careful just to hit the mud with it, washing it partially away. Without pressure behind the water, a skill Jacob had yet to perfect, he wasn't able to get the clingiest mud clumps off. It was enough to fulfill his cleanliness guidelines, though.

A younger soldier, one not from his unit, wandered up to him. "What was that?" the boy asked, indicating Jacob's shoes.

"Are you lost?" Jacob replied, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The eastern marshes proved to be more difficult to traverse than he had imagined, though he had yet to faceplant into the mud like so many others. By the looks of it, this boy was one of those unlucky souls.

"That too, but I just saw you use magic! Do you think you could maybe do the same for me but with my face?" the boy pressed forward despite Jacob's curtness. The directness the soldier displayed shed a favorable light on him. Jacob had yet to dismiss his little orb of water; letting the dirty soldier use the relatively clean water wouldn't harm him.

"Sure," Jacob grinned, flinging the water into the boy's face. The leather-wearing soldier wiped his face with the sleeves of his shirt, removing much of the mud. What was hidden behind the thick layer of dirt was a face not all that much younger than Jacob's eighteen years. Maybe he was around sixteen?

"Thank you, sir!" the boy saluted, figuring that the mage was an officer as they usually were. Jacob smiled at the act, for the boy must've been new. Pulling the hood covering his head down, Jacob indicated his metal collar with a grim smile.

"There won't be anyone to call me sir for another two decades at least. Just call me Jacob," he offered his hand. The boy, unperturbed by the mark of servitude, took it.

"Mine's Roderick, but my friends call me Rod." Jacob stumbled at the boy's words. What in the world were the odds that the only person in an entire army that would be willing to talk with him went by Rod? The first real laugh he'd had in months escaped him in that moment. The nearby soldiers, and especially his corporal, eyed him with disdain.

"Sorry about that, Rod. You just reminded me of someone. Go talk to the corporal over there. He's the one wearing the chainmail. Ask him for your unit's whereabouts," Jacob advised Rod. Being away from your unit for too long was grounds for punishment. Punishment usually meant cleaning the latrines or worse; Jacob had done them all at some point.

"Thanks, Jacob. I'll be going, then. I'm sure we'll meet again," Rod waved as he walked over to the corporal. After a verbal flogging, the boy was sent backwards in line presumably to his unit. Jacob did not envy Rod on his march of embarrassment. The soldiers around him were laughing at how confused he looked. For his part, Rod remained stoic about the whole thing. Respect for the soldier grew in Jacob's mind as he watched the insults hurled at him bounce off a wall.

That night, the crickets were chirping as the soldiers of the Fourth prepared camp. Jacob was called to action to prepare a flat area around the corporal's tent, just to make the night a bit more comfortable for him. The resulting headache from mana exhaustion caused by his earlier water stunt and the newly cast earth magic nearly made Jacob snap. Only the remembrance of the hell on Earth that Jacob had to go through the first time he'd broken with direct orders kept him at bay. He was determined never to feel the collar burn him again.

A good night's rest would both cure him of the headache and see his mana replenished. It was one of the constants he had noticed; while he slept, his mana regenerated. No matter how much mana he used, it was always back to normal the next day. It made Jacob question why his magic had disappeared after his fight with the wolves by Leafburrow, but the pursuit of answers was ultimately an extra thing he didn't want to worry about. He took the information gained from recent experiments at face value.

In his sleep, he envisioned his life back at Steelshade as a guardsman. As terrible as his "coworkers" had been, they were absolutely pleasant compared to the conscripts he was surrounded by. The training had been consistent, and he was never ridiculed for his skill, or rather his lack thereof.

The scene shifted to Leafburrow, reminding him of all he'd lost. Waking up to see Angelica smiling while preparing the common room had been one of his favorite memories. The lessons with Will during the day another. Playing the lute with Rod yet another. So many experiences he'd never get to have.

Finally, he ended up back on Earth. School assignments waited for him, but so did his family. For all his faults, they loved him for him. That kind of unconditional acceptance was rare in this world, and he missed it dearly. Family, something he'd taken for granted. Alone, he now realized just how fleeting some things could be.

Jacob woke up.