Path of the Tiger

you that both inspires and terrifies me. I do not want you to be alarmed by what I am saying, but know this: you are different. This is why I chose you to be my new aide. Did you not think it was strange that I picked you, a mere private, rather than a junior officer such as a lieutenant? Well, my boy, I chose you for a very specific reason. You see, I cannot explain exactly why, but in my soul, with my chakra, I sensed that you were different from the masses of ordinary fellows out there who surround us in this camp. Quite different, quite unique indeed. What you are – the real you, I mean – the soul that has taken up temporary residence in this mortal body of yours, is ancient. Your soul, I believe, has lived through hundreds, if not thousands of lifetimes before this one. You may in fact be in your final incarnation before nirvana.’

William didn’t quite know how to respond to this, and Captain Liversage sensed this and smiled sympathetically.

‘It’s quite all right my boy, you don’t need to respond to this,’ he said. ‘I know that what I’m telling you must seem quite overwhelming, especially for one as young as yourself. As I said, you do not need to say anything on your part. However, think on these words when you meditate. You have been practicing the meditation techniques I have showed you, have you not?’

‘I’ve been trying, sir,’ he replied.

‘Good, good. You must keep trying, my boy. As I said—’

‘Good evening, Captain Liversage. Good evening, Private Gisborne.’

Captain Morris interrupted them, striding through the tent door, and looking at once haggard and flustered. William sprang up off his seat and immediately stood at attention.

‘Captain Morris, sir!’ he said, saluting stiffly.

‘At ease, Private. Liversage, command requires your presence immediately. It is believed that the main Russian force intends to attack us on the morrow, in the Balaclava valleys.’

Captain Liversage nodded.

‘I see. Preparations will have to be made then. Do you think the Light Brigade will see action tomorrow then?’

‘I am quite convinced of it,’ Morris said.

Captain Liversage turned to William and spoke gravely.

‘William, sharpen your sword and lance point, and get your fellow troopers to do the same. Tomorrow we ride into battle, so inform your friends and prepare yourselves accordingly. Off with you now, boy. I will summon you when our meeting is over.’

‘Yes sir!’

***

From all around the campsite the sounds of sabre edges and lance points being scraped against whetstones was as the racket of a murder of clockwork crows, all cawing in their steel voices in a harsh, atonal clamour that rose above the general hubbub of the Light Brigade camp. From here or there the occasional shout, or peal of laughter, would cut through the aural barrage of steel-scraping, but for the most part the men spoke in hushed and subdued tones, all wary of the coming dawn.

William and his friends sat around their own campfire, sharpening their sabres and passing around a bottle of rum that Watson had managed to smuggle in from somewhere.

‘G-, g-, gi’ us another swig there, Cake,’ Watson slurred through his inebriation. He had already finished a bottle on his own before joining William and his friends, at Michael’s request. Paul, Andrew, and especially William, were not, however, particularly happy about having the cantankerous, aggressive drunkard at their fire.

William took a light sip, rolled his eyes and passed the bottle back to Watson, who slugged heavily on it. He had been calling William ‘Cake’ since he had taken on the position of Captain Liversage’s batman – referring to him, in a derogatory manner, as ‘the officer’s cake’.

‘Thanks Cake,’ he rasped. ‘But listen, like, you should’ve ‘ad a man’s swig on it before ye gave it back to me, shouldn’t you? Don’t come an’ drink your rum like you’re a little girl playing at a tea party wiff’ her bleedin’ dollies. We’re men ‘ere, Cake, men o’ the 17^th bleedin’ Lancers, so you should bloody well drink like one.’

William just grumbled under his breath and shook his head.

‘Ignore him, Will,’ Andrew interjected. ‘He’s off his head, all pished again. He’s full ay nonsense, tha’ one is.’

‘Oy, what did you bloody well say about me?’ Watson snarled.

‘Hey, come now Watty,’ said Michael, who was sitting next to him. ‘Dunnae say silly things now, we’re all brothers here in the 17^th. Death or Glory Boys, we—’

‘That one ain’t no bleedin’ Death or Glory Boy!’ Watson growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Andrew. ‘Neither ‘im nor this little officer’s darling Cake ‘as got what it takes!’

‘Watty, my lad, come now,’ Michael urged, placing a calming hand on Watson’s shoulder in an attempt to pacify him.

Watson, however, was too far taken with his drunken rage and he spun around forcefully, ripping Michael’s hand off his shoulder and flinging it away as if it were a slithering viper.

‘Don’t put your ‘ands on me, Mikey! Don’t you bloody touch me!’

This slight ignited Michael’s own fiery temper.

‘I’m trying tae help you, you big buffoon!’ he snapped, stabbing his sabre into the ground and clenching his fists. ‘We’ll all have the living daylights flogged out ay’ us if we’re caught brawlin’! Now are you honestly such a mighty fool tha’ tha’s what you’d want on the eve ay battle? Stop now wi’ your damned stupidity!’

Watson growled wordlessly and slugged heavily on the rum bottle. He snorted, coughed and wiped his ragged sleeve across his mouth before he replied.

‘Callin’ me stupid, are ye?! Bah, well you’re all a bunch a dirty, stinkin’ savages from the dark and uncivilised north! Fook your fookin’ Scotland, and bollocks to all o’ yous!’

Watson clenched his fists tight, spitting a wad of saliva off to the side after he said this, glaring at all of them with rage-blistered eyeballs; white molten steel orbs against the dark of night, daubed with umber tones of firelight.

‘Take your rum an’ leave, Watson,’ a calm but firm voice said, interrupting the