of night as he felt a nameless emotion rising deep within his heart。
There will be other sunsets； he thought to himself。 Other suns； though none of them will mean as
much to me as this one does； here and now。 Nothing could mean as much as this moment does；
standing here among these wheat fields； watching the last sunset I will ever see at home。
Home。 The mere thought of the word was enough to make him turn his head and look over his
shoulder across the swaying rows of ripening grain toward the small collection of farm buildings on
the other side of the field behind him。 He saw the old barn with its sloping； wood…shingled roof。 He
saw the round tower of the grain silo： the ginny…hen coops he had helped build with his father； the
small stock pen where they kept the draft horses and a herd of half…a…dozen alpacas。
Most of all； he saw the farmhouse where he had been born and raised。 Two…storeyed； with a low
wooden porch out front and the shutters on the windows left open to let in the last of the light。 Given
the unchanging routines of his family’s existence； Larn did not need to see inside to know what was
happening within。 His mother would be in the kitchen cooking the evening meal； his sisters helping
her set the table； his father in the cellar workshop with his tools。 Then； just as they did every night；
once their chores were done the family would sit down at the table together and eat。 Tomorrow night
they would do the same again； the pattern of their lives repeating endlessly day after day； varying
only with the changing of the seasons。
It was a pattern that had endured here for as long as anyone could remember。 A pattern that
would continue so long as there was anyone left to farm these lands。 Though； come tomorrow night
at least； there would be one small difference。
Come tomorrow； he would no longer be here to see it。
Sighing； Larn returned to his work； turning once more to the task of trying to repair the ancient
rust…pitted irrigation pump in front of him。 Before the sunset had distracted him he had removed the
outer access panel to reveal the inner workings of the pump’s motor。 Now； in the fading light of
twilight； he removed the motor’s burnt…out starter and replaced it with a new one； mindful to say a
prayer to the machine spirit inside it as he tightened and re…checked the connections。
Taking a spouted canister from beside the foot of the pump he dribbled a few drops of unguent
from it into the workings。 Then； satisfied everything was in order； he reached out for the large lever
at the side and worked it slowly up and down a dozen times to prime the pump before pressing the
ignition stud to start the motor。 Abruptly； the pump shuddered into noisy life； the motor whining as
it strained to pull water up from aquifers lying deep below the ground。 For a moment； Larn
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congratulated himself on a job well done。 Until； just as the first few muddy drops of water emerged
from the mouth of the pump to stain the dry earth of the irrigation trench before it； the motor
coughed and died。
Disappointed； Larn pressed the ignition stud again。 This time though； the motor stayed sullenly
silent。 Leaning forward； he carefully inspected the parts of the mechanism once more — checking
the connections for corrosion； making sure the moving parts were well…lubricated and free from grit；
searching for broken wires or worn components — all the things the mechanician…acolyte in
Ferrusville had warned them about the last time the pump was serviced。 Frustratingly； Larn could
find nothing wrong。 As far as he could see； the pump should be working。
Finally； reluctantly forced to concede defeat； Larn lifted the discarded access panel and began to
screw it into place once more。 He had so badly wanted to be able to fix the pump； with harvest time
still three weeks away； it was important the farm’s irrigation system should be in good working
order。 Granted； it had been a good season so far and the wheat was growing well but the life of a
farmer was always enslaved to the weather。 Without the irrigation system to fall back upon； a couple
of dry weeks now could mean the difference between feast and famine for an entire year。
But in the end he knew that was only part of it。 Standing there； looking down at the pump after
he had screwed the panel back in place； Larn realised his reasons for wanting to see it repaired went
far beyond such practical considerations。 Like it or not； tomorrow he would be leaving the farm
forever and saying farewell to the only land and life he had ever known； never to return。 He
understood now that he had felt the need to perform some last act of service to those he would be
leaving behind。 He had wanted to complete some final labour on their behalf。 An act of penance
almost； to give closure to his grief。
This morning； when his father had asked him to look at the pump and see if he could fix it； it had
seemed the perfect opportunity to achieve that aim。 Now though； the recalcitrant machine spirits
inside the pump and his own lack of knowledge had conspired against him。 No matter how hard he
tried； the pump was broken beyond his powers to repair it and his last act of penance would go
unfulfilled。
Larn collected his tools together and made ready to turn for home； only to pause again as he
noticed a change in the sunset。 Ahead； the sun had already half disappeared below the horizon；
while the sky around it had turned a deeper and more angry red。 What gave him pause was not the
sun or the sky； but the fields below them。 Where once they had been bathed in spectacular shades of
gold and amber； now the colour of the fields had become more uniform； changing to a dark and
unsettling shade of brownish red； like the colour of blood。 At the same time the evening breeze had
risen almost imperceptibly； catching the rows of wheat in the fields and causing them to flow and
shift before Larn’s eyes as though the fields themselves had become some vast and restless sea。 It
could almost be a sea of blood； he said to himself； the very thought of it causing him to shiver a
little。
A sea of blood。
And； try as hard as he might； he could read no good omen in that sign。
By the time Larn had put his tools away； the sun had all but set。 Leaving the barn behind； he walked
towards the farmhouse； the yellow glow of lamplight barely visible ahead of him through the slats of
the wooden shutters now closed over the farmhouse windows。 Stepping onto the porch Larn lifted
the latch to the front door and walked inside； carefully removing his boots at the threshold so as not
to track mud from the fields into the hallway。 Then； leaving the boots just inside the doorway； he
walked down the hall towards the kitchen； unconsciously making the sign of the aquila with his
fingers as he passed the open door of the sitting room with its devotional picture of the Emperor
hung over the fireplace。
Reaching the kitchen he found it deserted； the smell of woodsmoke and the delicious aromas of
all his favourite foods rising from the pans simmering on the stove。 Roasted xorncob； boiled derna
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beans； alpaca stew and taysenbeny pie： together； the dishes of the last meal he would ever eat at
home。 Abruptly it occurred to him； in whatever years of his life might yet come； those selfsame
aromas would forever now be linked with a feeling of desperate sadness。
Ahead； the kitchen table was already laid out with plates and cutlery ready for the meal。 As he
stepped past the table toward the sink； he remembered returning from the fields two nights earlier to
find his parents sitting in the kitchen waiting for him； the black…edged parchment of the induction
notice lying mutely on the table between them。 From the first it had been obvious they had both
been crying； their eyes red and raw from grief。 He had not needed to ask them the reason for their
tears。 Their expressions； and the Imperial eagle embossed on the surface of the parchment； had said
it all。
Now； as he moved past the table Larn spotted the same parchment lying folded in half on top of
one of the kitchen cupboards。 Diverted from his original intentions； he walked towards it。 Then；
picking up the parchment and unfolding it； he found himself once more reading the words written
there below the official masthead。
Citizens of Jumael IV； the parchment read。 Rejoice！ In accordance with Imperial Law and the
powers of his Office； your Governor has decreed two new regiments of the Imperial Guard are to be
raised from among his people。 Furthermore； he has ordered those conscripted to these new
regiments are to be assembled with all due haste； so that they may begin their training without delay
and take their place among the most Holy and Righteous armies of the Blessed Emperor of All
Mankind。
From there the parchment went on to list the names of those who had been conscripted； outlining
the details of the mustering process and emphasising the penalties awaiting anyone who failed to
report。 Larn did not need to read the rest of it — in the last two days he had read the parchment so
many times he knew the words by heart。 Yet despite all that； as though unable to stop picking at the
scab of a half…healed wound； he continued to read the words written on the parchment before him。
“Arvin？” He heard his mother’s voice behind him； breaking his chain of thought。 “You startled
me； standing there like that。 I didn’t hear you come in。”
Turning； Larn saw his mother standing beside him； a jar of kuedin seeds in her hand and her
eyes red with recently dried tears。
“I just got here； Ma；” he said； feeling vaguely embarrassed as he put the parchment back where
he had found it。 “I finished my chores； and thought I should wash my hands before dinner。”
For a moment his mother stood there quietly staring at him。 Facing her in uncomfortable silence；
Larn realised how hard it was for her to speak at all now she knew she would be losing him
tomorrow。 It lent their every word a deeper meaning； making even the most simple of conversations
difficult while with every instant there was the threat that a single ill…chosen word might release the
painful tide of grief welling up inside her。
“You took your boots off？” she said at last； retreating to the commo