CHAPTER 6

THAT WHICH IS INVISIBLE

Imprisoned somewhere within the ship of our abductors, Shamar, Zaor and I were busy discussing our capture and who or what our mysterious captors might be. That our captors possessed the power of invisibility we were now certain, for our experience and capture had proven that very fact and Shamar had said as much openly. However, we could not fathom the motive of our these strangers, nor how they had been able to achieve the invisibility process.

As yet our jailers had not revealed themselves. Nevertheless, Zaor and I, with the Kevan, joining us, knew our captor’s use of invisibility was a fact we recognized as being true and real and a grave danger to us—but also to all our people. That fact filled each one of us with serious concern. It worried us as captives wanting to make our escape, but it also made us extremely wary of this mysterious enemy. They seemed a devious people who had succeeded in a brazen abduction from the very royal palace of the Emperor in the capital city of Tarcos itself. My very own home! What else would they dare to do? Anything it seemed.

Shamar also told me about a strange weapon they had—which seemed to be some kind of a beam gun or ray projector. It was mounted on their ship and it shot a beam of light that they had used to burn the Winged-men out of the sky. Zaor and I naturally found this to be interesting and we vowed that if we ever escaped we would seek out knowledge about this weapon. It would certainly prove useful to defend Tarcos in the future and I believe Shamer knew just what kind of weapon it might be from the way he described its effect on the flying beasts it had killed.

Shamar explained to me what he saw the deadly weapon do to the winged creatures in more detail and I nodded knowingly, it certainly sounded familiar to me. It had cooked them alive. I asked him many questions about this new weapon, and when I was satisfied with his answers, Zaor asked still more questions. This would be a super weapon on Ares and I said as much to Shamar.

“Yes, a deadly weapon that no one can stand against,” the Kevan replied.

“It sounds like it is essentially some kind of a laser beam,” I told my companions. Then I wondered where beings on this strange world would get their hands upon such advanced weapons technology. It seemed to me like something I had seen years ago in a James Bond spy movie called Goldfinger—now that weapon had been an industrial laser. I smiled remembering the scene where Bond was going to be cut in two with the laser—one thing I missed about America and Earth were all the great old books and movies. It was sad there were none such on Ares. Then I shrugged off my previous life revelry, that was a log time ago and far away from here and now. Now I had to concentrate on the present. I nodded, a laser, well it seemed possible. Advanced technology on Earth perhaps, but here on Ares? I wondered if it was not ultra modern technology, but instead very ancient in origin. A laser that could kill the Winged-men and burn them out of the sky was a mighty weapon indeed and it could prove most useful. I was very interested in obtaining such a weapon.

“La-Ser?” Zaor replied curiously, repeating the word I had spoken in the Ares manner, as two distinct syllables, as if it were two words. He wanted an explanation, as any warrior would about such an apparently new super weapon.

“Yes, but the words you spoke are pronounced together—laser,” I told Zaor and Shamar. “On my world of Earth they have similar weapons but not as deadly as this one seems to be. This weapon must be very much like the one I remember from my old world of Earth, only more advanced and powerful. It is a very dangerous and deadly weapon. I fear our captors using such a weapon coupled with their process to make themselves invisible could make them all-powerful on Ares, maybe even invulnerable!”

Zaor and Shamar nodded grimly at my words. I could see they felt the same way.

So we had much to dwell upon with this dire news as we thought upon these matters and made our plans to escape our incarceration, and then somehow defeat our enemies. We had decided to work together to escape which was good, but I still wanted to know who our captors were and what they wanted with us. That meant I needed to wait until they revealed themselves and their motives. So escape had to be put off for the moment.

By now it had been four days since the mysterious invisible alien ship had left Tarcos with Zaor and I as its captives. Now Zaor, and I, and our new companion, Shamar, king of the Kevans, were all held prisoner inside an invisible vessel in which we had no idea where we were headed, nor for what purpose. We had not seen our captors in all that time of course, since they were apparently invisible beings. Nor had we noticed any indication of their presence. Our captors had never contacted us in any way as yet. It was all incredibly strange. What was their plan? Why had they abducted us? What was going on? With no contact as yet between captives and captors it was impossible to answer any of these vexing questions. However food, water, and air seemed to be dispensed into our cell by some type of automatic system from the round opening high above us, so they were interested in keeping us alive. At least for now. However, the round opening above our cell was too high for us to reach, and much too small for any of us to escape through. So we waited.

Time passed, the days drifted by. The three of us spoke of our homes and families, told each the other tales of fighting the Winged-men and the battles that won the freedom of the green people. A fast friendship began to grow between Zaor and I with the young man from Keva.

Shamar told us that he was only superficially able to read the minds of our captors but he was trying to find out as much as he could. I hardly knew what to make of this but Shamar explained to me the Kevan people had certain mind powers where they could read the thoughts of others. Sometimes. It depended upon the age and experience of the reader. He said he thought he could read some of the thoughts of our captors, but not all, mostly what he got were only impressions.

“What are these impressions telling you?” I asked in wonder. “Jon Kirk,” he said sharply, “they are coming for us now.”

* * * *

In the faraway city of Scresa, the winged monster Grusus laughed as he chewed a mouthful of roasted meat off of a charred leg—a human leg—which bare hours before had been part of an innocent green female prisoner. Greedily, he jammed the roasted flesh down his throat. He washed the burnt meat down with a steady stream of harsh burning Zaran beer. Around him, other Zarans, his officers and nobles, likewise enjoyed their grisly flesh feast. A blue-skinned nobleman, an honored guest, sat at the table in a place of honor and looked on amused. He also partook of the feast with gusto.

Grusus suddenly belched with a loud laugh, “These Scresans, they do taste good! They are tender are they not?”

“Yes, My Lord, tender is the very word for them, soft living and no fighting make them quite tasty,” answered one of his officers, a terrible brute named Bron, who laughed back with an ugly sneer. The feasters joined in on the laughter as Bron chewed upon the leg of a suitably grilled hunk of human flesh.

“They are fat, but the fat makes them taste all the better,” Grusus explained with an evil leer as his tongue licked up the sweet red juices. It was the blood of the last poor victim who was the fodder for tonight’s feast. “It is good that we have found that the Greens are useful for something—after all!”

There was wild laughter at this grim joke by the throng of Zarans. They loved to hear and speak such words during their blood feasting.

“‘Cattle’ can be most useful, My Lord,” another officer added, his mouth stuffed with food as he drowned himself with harsh drink.

There was more agreement and wild response to this from the dozens of winged demons in the chamber as they continued to devour their flesh feast. Meanwhile a group of green prisoners and slaves stood by in chains watching all this in silent terror. They could not believe what they were witnessing. Many of them knew some of the poor souls whose charred body parts were being devoured by the enemy right before their eyes. They were horrified by what they saw and terrified that they would be next on the menu.

The leader of the Winged-men enjoyed the fear shown by the cowering green prisoners. Seeing the fear of the Greens was enjoyed by each member of the winged horde as if it were some dinner entertainment specially put on for the enjoyment of these monsters. The leader looked over at the cringing green prisoners and smiled. That smile appearing upon such a barbaric face was a terrible visage to look upon. Women cried out in terror, old men shook with fear.

“The rest of you shall meet your final salvation tomorrow,” Grusus promised in a nasty tone of mocking hatred. He and all his horde were enjoying their revenge upon this green cattle who had dared to oppose Zaran rule on this planet. “So shall all our enemies meet a similar fate.”

The Winged-men resoundingly cheered their leader.

Grusus burped loudly, and his companions laughed approvingly, it was their typical response to the end of a satisfactory and most delicious meal.

Above the feaster’s, in a huge cage in the massive dining hall were imprisoned dozens more captive Scresan Greens. They sat frozen in stark maddening terror as they watched the fate of their family and friends below them, which was now part of the meal of their enemy. It was a horrible fate, and one that Grusus told them would be their own soon enough.

The horde laughed at this grim joke as they devoured more red meat and drank more of the harsh Zaran beer. They were having the best of meals since they had first heard the name Jon Kirk— since that hated outworlder had first come to Ares and messed up everything for them a year ago. Now they felt things would be back to normal under King Grusus.

Grusus suddenly banged on the huge wooden table before him to get everyone’s attention. He used a large leg bone—a human leg bone! Debris and congealed blood sprayed among the revelers. Most of them were his warriors, officers and nobles. They laughed with delight at the actions of their leader and cheered his great victories these last few weeks.

“In a few days we will move on to Caliat—the city the green cattle have defiled and renamed, Tarcos,” Grusus shouted to his screaming horde. They shouted back approvingly, anticipating more death and destruction—and the sweet taste of the flesh of the Greens.

Grusus allowed himself to enjoy the accolades heaped upon him by his warriors.

The Zarans cheered their leader and he nodded acknowledgement.

Grusus then continued, “Soon Tarcos will fall! Once that happens, this so-called Green Empire will fall with it! Then we of Zar will once again rule and seek our revenge as we have never before imposed our will upon the Greens. I promise you all, that once they are all defeated, I will devour the heart of this self-styled Emperor Jon Kirk myself!”

The Zarans roared their approval at this bold statement, shouting wildly, cheering him on, shouting his name, hitting their swords upon their shields creating a raucous din. Meanwhile the green prisoners watching this all began to feel the tight noose of doom strangling them with ever increasing terror and hopelessness.

As events had occurred, it was lucky for the people of the new Green Empire that Grusus did not yet know about the abduction of Emperor Jon Kirk—nor his imprisonment. If the Zaran had known this, he would have instantly attacked Tarcos to begin his reign of terror over the Greens. Had he known, he would have paid any ransom to buy back Jon Kirk for his own purposes. However, Grusus did not know of Jon Kirk’s absence yet, so he waited, preparing his forces carefully to move upon the great city of the Greens and then take it down.

* * * *

Meanwhile, back in Tarcos, even the delay by the enemy in the attack upon the city had taken its toll on those who grew more fearful of the winged enemy day by day. Sahn Jor realized that his control over the populace was slipping away and that troops he had sent out far and wide as scouts were being routed or killed in various skirmishes. No word came back of Jon Kirk or Zaor and the enemy was drawing closer. Some of the green men were deserting their posts and there was the dark rumor of impending mutiny in the air throughout the city. All the various tribes and clans that had once joined together and fought for one man, their Emperor, Jon Kirk, now questioned why Sahn Jor should be in charge. Why him?? Why not someone else? There were many who thought they should now rule. Without Jon Kirk there to lead them and hold them together, many chiefs felt no hope, or no great loyalty to Sahn Jor or any other. They did not have faith in any of the men their absent emperor had placed in charge while he had gone missing. Things were bad and there was even some infighting among the tribe and clan leaders as they jockeyed for power. However, not one man or woman in Tarcos ever entertained the thought that John Kirk might have run away from the city to save himself. Such thoughts about Jon Kirk, and Zaor as well, were impossible to believe.

Nevertheless, this dark mood of fear and disorder caused considerable consternation among the populace of the city, and concern among the regular troops. Only the Black Dragons held firm, standing together in their loyalty to Jon Kirk and the Green Empire. They had taken an oath to serve and they would never break that oath. But others were not so loyal, nor did they hold so firmly against a fearsome enemy. As more days passed, some did ask, where was Jon Kirk? Some even wondered, had their emperor run away? Had Jon Kirk escaped and left them to face the Zarans alone? None of those who knew the emperor ever considered any thoughts such as these valid, but for some of the foreign troops from faraway places, or those who did not know their missing leader, there were many unanswered questions. As the slim days passed by, hope seemed to slip by with them.

Sahn Jor now struggled with his plan to negotiate peace with the Winged-men. He met with Empress Sirah to discuss his thoughts on the matter.

The Empress Sirah listened to her First Minister’s word’s with care and concern, even dread, for she knew these winged fiends well, but also she felt there might be some faint hope in seeking peace. Could it be possible?

“I do not like it, Sahn Jor,” Sirah began firmly. “I do not trust them at all.”

“Nor I, My Lady.”

Lady Sirah nodded, then added, “But we must do what is best for the people. If we can make a treaty of peace, even for a short time, it may hold the enemy force at bay. That will prevent the deaths of many of our people. I think you should pursue this action and see where it leads, but give up nothing, make no concessions.” “No concessions, My Lady, I understand,” he nodded and set ready to do his duty.

Sahn Jor then sent out a scout with a message for the Zaran leader. It was an attempt to try to open negotiations that he hoped might lead to a truce, or even a treaty of peace with the enemy forces. Whatever the result, Sahn Jor wanted to stretch out the negotiations as long as possible, in an effort to buy time for his city. Every day he drew out these negotiations would be a day that saved the lives of his people. He would do what he could to save as many people as possible. Most of these city people were not warriors, many were women or the old, most could not fight. To even ask them to do so would be to doom them to a bloody and brutal death. But to surrender was unthinkable. So he sent a representative under a flag of truce to Scresa to seek out the commander of the Zarans offering a reasonable compromise as a stalling tactic.

That evening his scout had returned to the city and told him he had been given an answer from the Zaran leader, who called himself, King Grusus.

At first, Sahn Jor thought he might be dreaming. Imagining things. His messenger had returned to Tarcos alive, and he said he had spoken to the Zaran leader Grusus. He had given the beast the message, and he stated the enemy leader had actually agreed that there might be a possibility of peace between the two forces. This was good news but it was suspiciously chilling nonetheless.

Sahn Jor prepared to ride out of Tarcos the next day and talk terms for peace if such was at all possible with a Zaran leader. He feared at first that Grusus did not truly want peace—that the Zaran was just playing a wily game allowing that he was more than willing to talk over the matter of peace, while all the time preparing for war. If that was true, then so be it. In any event, he had to make the effort.

Sahn Jor knew the Winged-men had all the advantages now, and while he feared they were just playing for time—in truth so was he as well. So the First Minister took a small detachment of men and rode out onto the Cosian plains to talk with this enemy leader named Grusus, to see if peace was possible. He knew he had to at least make an effort to save his people and city, even at the cost of his own life.