NIGHT CREPT OVER THE VILLAGE WITH THE DARKNESS OF A VELVET CAPE. CLOUDS covered the moons and stars, leaving no light. The longhouse stood alone as it gave the village some illumination. The exhausted villagers retired for the evening, leaving the well-fed warriors sat around a single roaring fire in the longhouse. They stared at the crackling flames jumping as the fire consumed the logs. The wood glowed from the inside until it split and crumbled. Fire spared nothing within its reach.
“I’ve never been one for giving speeches; however, we are on the threshold of what will test us down to the white of our bones,” said Titus. He glanced at each of the warriors one by one. “We know what each of us must do. You’re here because I want you to know who the hell you’re fighting with. Everyone must share the truth… I’ll go first and I will begin on Sarawu. It was a beautiful place. I dreamt of removing my uniform, fading away into the lush forest and joining the local people there. But that was not to be.”
* * *
Three low suns hung like vigilant bloodshot eyes in the sky above Sarawu. Their tears bled into the horizon as they set and gave the atmosphere an ominous glow. General Titus stood in front of the hologram on his Dreadnought waiting for Balisarius to speak. He had just been told the people of Sarawu held a vote to declare independence from the realm. That knowledge made it perfectly clear why he had been sent to make their presence known, but not engage. But the people of Sarawu showed their bravery and thirst for freedom by voting for independence. Knowing the outcome of the vote made him nervous.
The wage of war is peace because peace cannot be bought with war. All that is left are dead bodies. They can neither create nor contribute in any way. And that is what they had learned in all their weary days and nights of screams and mortar shells. Different world, same goddamn shit. Titus felt boiling defiance. Fuck the piety of the Motherworld and their arrogance, the lust that knew no bounds.
General Titus’ Dreadnought was shot from the sky with a salvo of cannon fire from warships of his own fleet. When the blitz was over, the Imperium sent an entire regiment to hunt him down. Titus and his troops fought until their guns were dry. It wasn’t enough.
When loyal troops cornered a battle-weary and blood-spattered Titus on the ground, he lifted his hands in the air in surrender.
The barren land had been stripped by fire, the hulking wreckage of a Dreadnought Titus once commanded smoked on the horizon. Nothing lived, only decay and ash. Birds were replaced by dropships screaming across the plains, continuing to pockmark the ground firepower. General Titus crushed bone and branches beneath his boots as he marched with Motherworld rifles aimed at his back. Was he the only one left? He set eyes on a Dreadnought above his head. His heart might as well have been riddled by a firing squad.
On the ground an even greater horror. What was left of his regiment were on their knees, hands bound behind their backs and black rough sacks with the image of a giant eye and single tear over their heads. He could see their heavy breathing from the way the fabric sucked in and out of their mouths. He could sense, feel their terror. He hated that he wasn’t next to them. With the sound of thunder, the Dreadnought unleashed its lethal justice upon the soldiers as Titus watched.
“No…” he whispered until it was a scream. Their bodies became ground meat as they exploded. Blood saturated the parched soil. His grief was a Dreadnought rising from the pit of his stomach to his fists. He shouted a war cry of despair and hate. What had he really devoted his career to? With everything he had left, he ripped his wrists apart with a hard yank, snapping the cuffs that bound him.
He spun around and knocked the soldiers closest to him to the ground. Before the others had time to react, he had one of the soldiers’ weapons in his hands. His shouts rivaled the sound of the rapid fire cutting down the Imperium soldiers who caught him. He didn’t stop until he ran out of ammunition. His chest heaved as he cried for his men, his tears merging with the sweat riding down his face. Titus didn’t want to glance back at the dead. That moment was seared into his memory for the rest of his days. He scooped up extra weapons, all he could carry, and began to run. He was now and forever a wanted man.
When Titus finished his story, the only sound was the all-consuming flame in the fire pit. His eyes glowed with its light. “Never again. I’ll never surrender. You should understand that today, before you choose to follow me tomorrow.” The rest of the warriors nodded after he said this. The room remained silent until Milius stood.
“Thank you, Titus, for your honesty. I admire that. I have never fought in a battle like the one that’s coming. I was raised in a place much like this. My home world was called Meadai. My childhood made me understand that the land is not the growing of food, but the cultivation of the tribe itself.
“When the ships appeared in the sky above my world, I looked to my tribal elders for how we would respond… They cowered before the might of the Realm. Submitting and giving them everything because they were too scared to fight. They said, ‘What can we do against the might of the Motherworld?’ There was little room left to be a child when the ships arrived. And I too saw those I cared for die.”
* * *
The morning mist always settled over the mountainous terrain with a freshness and soft dew. The moisture and warmth during the day made it fertile ground. The farmers began early on the steep fields on the mountainside. Large scythes cut through stalks with a rhythm perfected over generations. Through the patchy cloud cover, a Dreadnought made its way above their village. Seventeen-year-old Milius worked with the rest but stopped to watch the hangar release several dropships. Before anyone could react, the large circle of carved stone ancestors that rose to the sky were obliterated from above. Rock burst through the air and fell across the field and those working there.
The villagers looked at each other in terror before abandoning the fields for the village center where the dropships landed. Milius followed the crowd, hoping to reunite with their father. Dropships whizzed through the air as if they were trying to herd everyone in one place. And they were: the village square. By the time the chaos subsided and the villagers were mostly in one place, an admiral stood with the their mayr and six other tribal elders. He turned to the fearful villagers with nervousness.
“The council has met with officers from the Motherworld. This is Admiral Wurst. For now, everyone return to your work. At first light we will meet here again. Anyone disobeying these orders will suffer severe consequences,” the mayr said.
Admiral Wurst had the look and heft of a hungry gray mountain bear. He eyed the village children and women with a lust that made Milius sick. Henna, their best friend, leaned close to their ear. “How are we supposed to work like everything is fine with these invaders? What do you think they will do?”
Milius shook their head. “Do as we are told. The council will know what to do. Maybe they will come to an agreement then leave.”
Henna looked at the others their age, who returned to work on the steep mountainside as instructed. She stepped closer to Milius and spoke quietly in their ear. “I want to hear what is going on. Let’s listen by the back of the tribal hall.”
Henna walked quickly with Milius following. They could see Admiral Wurst heading back to his ship and the tribal elders walking as a group to the hall. The rest of the villagers tried to appear as if they were resuming their normal duties; however, it was obvious they were hovering near the hall and elders to catch any bits of information.
Henna and Milius went through a storage room attached to the tribal hall. The door between the two wasn’t thick, and voices could clearly be heard. Milius opened it a crack to see. The tribal elders looked like children as they huddled around a table.
“This isn’t good. Look what they did to the stone circle. We can’t allow them to take what they want. It will never be enough,” said a council woman.
The tribal leader shook his head. “Exactly. Look what they have done unprovoked. We absolutely have to cooperate. What good will come from fighting, but dead bodies and even more destruction to our fields? We will starve or have to leave, at least those that survive. We have nothing that can come close to taking down those ships. They have weapons that can kill us by the dozens. We don’t fight.”
“So we sacrifice our children? You are okay to pay that price… their blood?”
The six other elders murmured as they spoke amongst themselves. The leader couldn’t look the council woman in the eyes. “If that is what it takes. Do the rest of you agree?”
The council woman stared at them hard as they averted their eyes. “Aye,” they said one by one.
“I will tell the admiral himself. I will tell the village tomorrow about the new work schedule. Every eldest child will be sent off world.”
The council woman spat on the floor. “Cowards. You will all die anyway. We all will.”
Milius couldn’t believe what they were hearing. They glanced at Henna. Tears streamed from her eyes with a look of hate across her face. “We have to fight.” Before Milius could stop her, she ran from the storage room. Milius followed her, dashing around the hall and to the front to catch up with the mayr. “You can’t do this! We must fight. I will not be sold like a goat for your freedom! Do you even know where they will take us?”
The mayr stopped. “Go home and spend the rest of the time you have here with your family. Causing trouble will only make it worse for everyone.”
“No!” she screamed. The council woman approached the two. “If they don’t fight, maybe others will.”
Milius stood in shock hearing this conversation, not knowing what to do. Soldiers walked around the village with weapons in hand, observing everything. He could see the admiral step out of his dropship and look in their direction. “Henna, we should go,” said Milius.
She shook her head. “I’m going with her.”
Milius opened their mouth to speak when their name was called. “Milius.” They looked back to see their mother. Her eyes appeared like she had been crying. “Please come home. I don’t want you wandering around with all these soldiers.” Milius looked back to Henna. “Milius,” their mother called again.
Henna stepped closer to Milius. “Go. I will keep you posted.” Milius smiled at Henna despite feeling torn. They trusted Henna would come to the house in the morning. “Alright, see you soon.”
The following morning a light drizzle fell and thick fog covered the mountains. It added to the somber confusion of the village as they waited for news. The mayr stood in front of the villagers again, appearing ten years older. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night. His voice matched the weariness in his eyes. “The council has decided to be in partnership with the Realm. In exchange for our labor, produce, and homage the Realm has generously offered their protection for all good tenants on their land…” He paused with his lips pursed as if he could stop the following words from escaping his mouth. “And every family must part with their eldest child. The Realm requires strong backs for work on another planet.”
There were gasps and cries. Milius shook as they glanced towards their father. Admiral Wurst stepped forward. “I knew you would react like this. So let me show you what happens to partners who do not cooperate…” He turned and nodded his head towards a soldier, who left the waiting regiment. From out of the dropship he brought one of the elders, badly beaten. More gasps. The dropship lifted to reveal four large cloven beasts being held with neck reins by another soldier. They whined and kicked at the noise of the crowd. Usually they were used in the quarry for moving stones due to their strong legs and back. They could also be ridden, but were not very fast.
The elder was marched to the center of the horses. Soldiers tied ropes to his ankles and wrists. Tears fell from his eyes as he averted his gaze, but remained silent. The mayr refused to look in the direction of the unfolding horror. Admiral Wurst walked over to the horses and patted its long mane while the soldier poked the elder with the butt of his gun to encourage him to lie down. With arms and legs outstretched, Admiral Wurst raised his hands and slapped the beasts so they ran.
In an instant the elder had his limbs torn from his body. Blood and exposed bone was all that could be seen besides his dead eyes staring at the sky. The drizzle turned to rain, causing his blood to run from his torso towards the feet of the observing villagers. Admiral Wurst turned back to them. “By midday I expect the eldest from every family to be here. The Imperium has steady work for you to add to the greatness of the Realm and continued expansion.”
Milius embraced their father. “I will see you again. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Come, let us have one final meal together.”
Henna approached Milius and their father. “How can you eat at a time like this? We have to do something if the council won’t. They are sacrificing us to save their own skin. We should be fighting.”
Milius’ father glanced at the admiral and the mayr, who were looking in their direction. “Keep your voice down, Henna. You will only make things worse.”
“I don’t care! I’m getting others. Maybe we need to fight for ourselves.”
As Henna began to walk away, Milius took a step, but their father grabbed their arm. “Let her go. Nothing will come of it.”
Milius stopped and watched the admiral follow Henna with his eyes. Their father squeezed their arm. “Please… we don’t have much time.” Milius looked back. His aging eyes pleaded. They couldn’t leave that way.
The following day, screams and shouts erupted from the square. Milius had been preparing to leave, hoping Henna would show up. She never did and a strict curfew had been placed upon the village. Their father rushed into kitchen. “You have to get on that Imperium ship.”
“Why?” asked Milius.
“Just do it!” he shouted. Milius could still hear the commotion. They ran past their father and out the door towards the fray. Milius stopped. Henna was on her knees, beaten and bruised with other villagers. Some lay on the ground with bullet holes in their heads. Milius screamed without thinking of the consequences. “Are you the eldest child in your family?” A soldier dug the butt of their rifle into Milius’ back.
“Yes!” shouted Milius’ father. The soldier pushed Milius towards a ship with the bay doors open and a line of villagers waiting to board. Tears streamed from their eyes. They didn’t have the heart to look back at their best friend, dear brave Henna, or their father. He meant well, but this couldn’t be how it ended. The sounds of the village became warped and didn’t make sense. Nothing did. It was like a nightmare come to life.
Milius boarded a dropship in a numb haze, to be taken to a foreign place to create more wealth for the Realm. Those who were too weak, ill, or old to work were killed without mercy in the village and their bodies dragged to a ditch to be buried in mass graves. The reality of Milius’ new life in a labor camp was far worse than being quartered by a horse. By the age of twenty, Milius had spent their last few years in a mine. The gas mask left deep cuts and painful rashes from hours of wearing it in the heat. Anyone who couldn’t keep up with production was exterminated, just like before they left Meadai.
Milius had become nothing but a body for the Imperium. When they died, no one would care. They thought of Henna, her courage for standing up for what she believed and dying for it. Perhaps that end was better than collapsing on a foreign world from coughing up blood or sheer exhaustion. Three years of their life was stolen in the labor camp until it all changed with the blast of dynamite that sparked their purpose, their sole purpose.
The explosion threw Milius off their feet along with the others working next to them. Shouts and shots could be heard but remained unseen behind the dust from the exploded rock. Milius scrambled to hide behind the metal cart on hover tracks. Their heavy breathing fogged the mask. Milius ran towards the entrance of the mine to see better, and ripped off the mask. Dying didn’t matter in that moment because they considered themselves dead already in that life. As the dust settled, they could see men and women not in uniform savage the Imperium soldiers. The mystery assailants left the workers alone. They had pain across their eyes that added to their ferocity.
Hope and pain surged in Milius’ heart. The vengeance they harbored now manifested in this dark Imperium tomb in the form of these unexpected fighters. Not a single Imperium soldier was spared. The one who had to be the leader stood in the center. He placed two fingers across his heart and looked Milius in the eye before glancing at the stunned miners. “You are free. We will do what we can to help you escape. Tell others about this day… about rebellion.” Milius caught his eye again. The fighter walked over and extended his hand. “What’s your name? Where are you from?”
Milius took his hand and rose to their feet. “Milius. From a world called Meadai.”
“I’m Darrian Bloodaxe from Shasu. I have heard of your world. I wouldn’t suggest you go back.”
Milius nodded, feeling sick about the fate of their father and those left behind. But their misery and Henna’s death couldn’t be in vain. They still had strength in their bones and a developing bitterness on their tongue. “Then let me fight with you. I have nothing to lose anymore.”
Bloodaxe held their gaze. A beautiful woman who looked similar to the tall, muscular man in battle gear approached. “Brother, we have lost a few, but this battle was a victory. I’ll be waiting near the dropships to help the captives take over this place and escape. See you when you are finished here.”
Milius wiped their face with the back of their hand. “Sounds like you are down a few.”
“We are. You know how to use any weapons?”
“No, but I’m a fast learner. Take me with you, please.”
“Alright. And you don’t work for me. We are one, family. No individual is better than the other.”
Milius threw the gas mask to the ground as they followed Bloodaxe from the mine and towards the Bloodaxe ships. Once on board, they were given clothes meant for training. But Milius didn’t want to just take off the gross Imperium-issued work clothing. They wanted a fresh start. Milius took a straight-edged razor to their scalp and chopped their hair off to the skin, leaving only a centimeter. They felt free and ready for whatever the universe had in store for their future, now that they felt they had a future. One that would at least end at some point with meaning, for Meadai and Henna.
When Milius finished their tale, they sat down again. “My camp was liberated by the resistance. And I found a new family who showed me another way. When the time comes, I’ll give my life to protect this village if need be because mine never had the chance. I will stand and offer my life for these people… because the people of Veldt have shown a bravery I wish my people had shown.
“I wish my people had the strength to know when to take a stand. To know when to ask for aid. Not to lay down their lives. To stand and die for a place to call home… what more honorable end could one hope for? Henna and a handful tried, but it wasn’t enough. More had to believe and work together. My father would be Hagen’s age.”
Tarak placed a hand on Milius’ shoulder and nodded.
The group looked for the next one to share their story. Nemesis broke the short silence. “I had a life before… long before, it seems. Now, I choose the way of the sword. It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm and my children were with their father… we were a little fishing village.” Her metallic hands gravitated to the two metal swords hooked to her waist. She closed her eyes, feeling their energy, remembering the day they came into her life and the course of her life changed forever.
* * *
Byeol sat by the sea and the wealth of the ocean provided what the villagers needed for themselves and to trade. Most of the year was pleasant with the sea breeze perfect for drying fish and seaweed. It was a place of peace, but it wasn’t always. Nemesis’ ancestors from the distant past were people of war. It had never crossed her mind to take a life, though. There was no need.
Nemesis sent her husband Min and their children out on the boat to collect reed eels so she could sell the wooden figurines she carved herself. It required her to travel to the neighboring village. It was nearly sunset when she began to make her way back to her own village. The sound of rumbling could be faintly heard in the distance, but she didn’t know what it could possibly be as the clouds had rolled in and darkness was descending. She had to get back to her family faster.
The horror began as she entered the outskirts, glowing from fire. The aroma of burned flesh and wood was a pungent, stomach-churning combination. The roads were impassable in their destruction and filled with debris. She jumped off her cart and ran until the smoke sent her into a coughing fit that made her choke. When she stopped to look around, the village was decimated. The bodies lay strewn across the ground like when the algae blooms killed fish. The houses were razed. It didn’t appear like a raid because boats and belongings remained. It was slaughter for the sake of it, or some sort of retribution, for what she did not know.
War was supposed to be a thing of the past, a way of life from which they had healed. Yet now it had been brought upon their heads unprovoked. This village had become a grave. Then panic struck. Her family. She ran towards the estuary. Perhaps Min and her children were hidden and would remain safe as the soldiers moved away from the water.
The best place for them to hide would be in one of the many boathouses; however, she could see fire blazing from that direction. Soldiers must have set them on fire to prevent any means of escape. She continued deeper into the outlying woods to avoid being seen, until she stumbled upon a forgotten shrine and the mouth of a small waterfall. The stone demon shrine held two large blades in the air with its long tongue falling to its belly. The eyes were empty dark sockets. Moss and ivy grew over the altar its clawed feet stood upon. It was from the days that had been long forgotten, until now. She touched its hideous face, the swords.
She had to hope Min could keep their children safe, but there were no weapons on their boat except for what was used to gut fish. Even if there were, Min was not a soldier. They didn’t belong in this war. Their village was for fisherman, not whalers with large harpoons and hooks. Nemesis kneeled and prayed behind the wet shrine as smoke rose to the sky in the distance.
Nemesis crept from her hiding spot hearing neither explosions nor voices. The skies were still lit with fires burning brightly. She hurried her pace towards the estuary where they kept their boat, the best spot for catching eels.
Her heart pounded as she waded into the water. She pushed at the reeds in her way. Just ahead she could see an overturned boat. She rushed towards it and turned it over. Nothing. She continued to wade in the waist-deep water. Three mounds bobbed in the water. Her legs and arms pushed hard against the water with her clothing dragging her back. She didn’t have to overturn the body to know it was her daughter. The body had a necklace around its neck. She deluded herself anyway, for a moment. Perhaps she had mistaken the necklace under the Dreadnought-dark sky.
Nemesis grabbed the arm and pulled the body close to her. It was her daughter, without a doubt. Her entire body quaked with sobs she held in as tightly as she embraced her daughter’s dead body. The agony of grief ripped her apart in that moment. Nothing else mattered as she held her daughter’s small body. There was a single bullet through her daughter’s head. She held onto her as she grabbed hold of the other bodies. They were her sons. They were her miracle children she didn’t think she could have and those heartless monsters took them from her.
She looked around the dark waters for Min, but saw no sign of him. She dragged all three children out of the water to the bank. The earth was soft around there. She couldn’t carry them all back to their home so this would be their final resting place. As she searched for an appropriate place to dig, she found a discarded shovel. This and her bare hands would have to do to create proper graves for them. They deserved nothing less. Beneath a tree, she began to dig until her arms ached. She clawed at the sandy soil with gritted teeth and groans. Stray rocks scraped her hands, causing them to bleed. She wanted the Imperium to bleed too, more and more the deeper and harder she scraped at the soil. Every single person or creature who aligned with the Imperium she wanted to inflict pain upon.
Her eyes stung from her silent incendiary tears. When the hole was large enough, she climbed out and stood above her children. This was the final goodbye. She kneeled and removed the necklace from her daughter’s neck. The shape of the pendant attached to thin dried river reeds resembled oracle steel carved in marbled jade and obsidian. She placed it around her own neck as she sobbed. One by one, she ripped strips of cloth from their clothing before placing their bodies in the grave with care.
They came into this world not long after each other and they would remain together forever. Perhaps in another dimension they continued to laugh like a spring rain and fight like little snapping turtles. She kissed their cheeks then climbed out to fill the grave. With whatever sticks she could find, she created three markers and attached the cloth taken from their clothing. She took one last look at the dark soil and walked away.
She shuffled to her village, numb. If soldiers found her then so what? What could there possibly be left to live for? The village was ruined. The homes were razed to the ground and bodies were littered everywhere, with fires still burning bright. Her people did not exist any longer. When she came upon her own home it had not been spared either. But something survived besides her. It was her birthright, a powerful ancestral gift, a rectangular wood box with images of ocean waves and demons rising from their crests.
She opened the box and inhaled deeply. Heat rose from the pit of her pelvis and continued until it hit her cheeks. A sense of knowing and urgency cleared her mind of grief. Inside lay two large identical blades of oracle steel and two metal gloves. They vibrated with memory of the past despite being cold. She knew what she had to do. The way of the demon demanded it. She had never spilled blood, but now she would spill her own because the bloodlust of her ancestors lived in those gauntlets. She lifted one of the blades out of the box and closed her eyes. She inhaled and exhaled whilst trying to focus on the wind and distant sound of water. Chimes that clung to life on a rafter rang with the lightness of the ghosts of the past come to guide her.
She raised the blade, opened her eyes, and chopped her left hand clean off just below the elbow. She gritted her teeth, fighting back a scream as blood sprayed in thin streams. With a trembling right hand she lay down the blade and took the left metal hand out of the box. The metal came alive with four red screws that molded to her wound. A wound that would remain forever more.
She flexed the digits as it ceased to be separate from her skin. Her blood awakened the gauntlets and the steel. This was her new skin. Her metal left hand grabbed the blade from the box and didn’t hesitate as she severed her right arm. To her surprise it didn’t hurt as much. A numbness, a coating of metal, shielded her pain for the moment. She placed the blade down and attached the other metal glove to the stump that was her right arm. The glove molded itself to her flesh as it did with the other arm. She splayed her metal fingers, reflecting the moonlight.
She peered down at her severed hands. They seemed small and distant. Weak things not capable of what she now wanted to do with these new hands and swords. She picked up the blades. Metal magnetized to metal. Nemesis stood and looked towards the still-smoldering estuary. There had to be places that remained untouched where she could gather supplies for life on the road. But exhaustion made her muscles feel heavy and mind fog made her thoughts confusing. She would go back to the shrine and sleep there. She wandered through the village thinking no one was around, but she was wrong.
“You there!”
She looked up to see a soldier approaching her. She ignored him and kept walking. He raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. In one swift movement she lifted her right sword and deflected the bullet. She looked at the steel in wonder. It was as if it guided her arm, not the other way around. Her new metallic hand tingled with energy. The rage she felt traveled from her fingertips to her shoulders. The soldier fired again. Nemesis deflected his bullet again and rushed towards him for the attack without an inkling of how to fight. The ancestor’s blood and steel guided her.
Ancient muscle memory sliced at the soldier’s right arm. He screamed as it fell to the ground with his weapon still in hand. Nemesis lifted both swords and beheaded him, both blades slicing across his neck. She watched the blood ooze out of his body as the head rolled to the side. Not a twinge of remorse moved inside of her. He could have been the one to kill her children and missing husband. This scum deserved nothing less than to wet her blades. She lifted the swords that glowed red.
Nemesis finished her tale with her metallic hands on the pommels of her swords.
“Like an abandoned shrine with the elements of nature taking root and growing freely all over, my pain became my rage… my rage became revenge. These swords became my path out of grief and with each arc of these blades, the numbness grows a little bit more bearable and the horror of that day feels further away, where it was the constant tormentor on my shoulder whispering dark words.
“But since that day I’ve been a creature of revenge. To cleave their hearts in two my only purpose. At nightfall tomorrow I will have my chance. More of their swill standing before me than ever before. All mine to send to oblivion. And yes, yes I will kill them. But it will not be for revenge. It will be for these people. The people of Veldt, who for the first time since that day have given me a yearning to live.”
The fire crackled as it died down. Tarak stood, threw in another log and stoked the fire. “None of us get to choose our parents, and mine happened to be a king and queen. My father, the king, had insisted on presenting our terms to the armies of the Motherworld himself, and in answer, they returned his body with the promise of invasion. My mother told me then, a boy doesn’t become a man until his father dies and a prince becomes a king. It was the last time I cried.
“Soon after, their ships darkened the sky. For honor’s sake, she did not run. I wanted to stay, protect her, but the queen knew to preserve the bloodline and the throne. I was smuggled off planet. Hidden in a refugee transport bound for a near bright star.”
* * *
The ritual of the funeral procession had been practiced for centuries. Every king had been buried in the same manner as the previous one. Hundreds of nobles and common subjects paid their respects because he was a loved king. A choir sang a hymn that exalted and placed a blessing over the royal family. Tarak watched his father’s body, dressed in his royal suit and covered in white bennu feathers, as it was carried on the shoulders of the First Regiment of the Royal Spears. They wore leather belts with a large bennu embossed on the waist.
His mother cried next to him, dressed in all black with black lace covering her eyes. She mumbled a prayer. Only Tarak could hear the bitterness in her voice. The rage she could not show, but at least her eyes were covered so as not to betray her thoughts. Tarak wore ceremonial black bennu feathers across his black suit. The time had come for him to no longer be a prince and become king. They stopped when the body reached the altar at the front of the nave. She reached out with a limp hand and touched the body. With the weight of a sword, the grief sunk into Tarak’s body. He placed his hand next to his mother’s.
“My son,” she croaked. “A boy does not become a man until his father dies and a prince… a prince becomes king.” She bowed her head and Tarak’s fist balled as he gripped the shroud. His father should have still been alive. He was murdered. Murdered by Imperium degenerates. His father left Samandrai in a hurry. The Imperium gave them no time to respond or negotiate demands. He huffed and argued with the council trying to persuade him to not go to the Motherworld to plead their case and present their terms. “I was not raised to cower before power-hungry regimes who know nothing about our world or people. We deserve more respect than that. We do not serve the Motherworld over the needs of our own people.”
“And you are the one to tell him so?” Tarak’s mother countered in private with her voice raised and eyes wild.
He paused, lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. “I am king and the one who must be in immediate danger. I must be the one to do this. It is what I was born and raised to do.”
Tarak remained silent because there was no use in trying to convince him otherwise. That was the last time he saw his father alive. His ship returned with an automatic destination guidance. He lay on the floor with ligature marks around his neck and his eyes bulging. A single tooth had been removed from his mouth.
They preserved his body so his family and council could see his face exactly how he died. In his hand he held a scroll. The Imperium would invade. She turned to Tarak, who looked at his dead father in horror. In his ear she whispered, “You are the continuation of our bloodline. You are the throne now.”
He looked into her eyes. “What are you saying?”
She swallowed hard. “You know exactly what I am saying. I will arrange everything and you must go now. After the official funeral, stop wearing all royal clothing. When the time comes. Be ready.”
He nodded and left his mother. His thoughts were a jumble. A puzzle of duty, honor, obedience, fear, the agonizing idea of running. But he was the only heir. There was just enough time to bury the king before preparing for war. But Tarak prepared for something else. The following morning after the funeral, he donned the plain clothing of their people.
The entire city was in chaos as it was bombarded from the sky and invaded on the ground, Dreadnoughts making their way into their airspace and dropships beginning their descents. It meant only one thing: total annihilation. Tarak rushed to his parents’ royal chamber to say goodbye to his mother. She stood on the balcony that overlooked the city, the place she loved and ruled with her beloved husband. She still wore her funeral attire.
“Mother.”
She looked back at him and smiled with tears in her eyes. A morbid peace radiated from her. Tarak took three steps towards her as she climbed on top of the balcony and hurled herself to the ground. Even if he had stopped her in that moment, she would have found a way to end her life.
She wouldn’t be taken alive only to be humiliated or used by the Imperium. She knew the stories of how they operated. The home she knew would be destroyed whether she lived or died. His gaze followed the Dreadnought as screams from the terror below filled his ears and drowned out everything but his hate. He turned to leave for a refuge transport that would smuggle him to safety. Nothing remained for him there.
* * *
Tarak paused and looked at the fire when he finished his tale. “I lost my mother and my world that day. I ran for duty’s sake for the preservation of a kingdom and bloodline that no longer exists. I was robbed of the chance to defend my people. But no more. When we finish here, that is where I will go. Home, to atone for misplaced honor.”
Tarak sat back down. The circle remained silent until Titus leaned forward and looked directly at Kora. “Kora, we haven’t heard from you. What’s your story?”
She could tell by the tone in his voice and the look on his face he wasn’t satisfied with their previous conversations.
“I am a war orphan. The discipline of a military life suited me. I served on a ship much like The King’s Gaze. Never having a family, I believed I had found one. That is until I arrived here on Veldt. This place taught me what a home and family could really be.”
She stared into the fire, but could feel Gunnar looking at her. He didn’t betray her trust.
“Hmmm,” said Titus, who had a slight smile on his face. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
Kora paused before looking him in the eyes. “No.”
Gunnar cleared his throat and raised his hand. Titus motioned for him to stand.
“Thank you all for coming to my village and giving us hope.” He scanned the group, looking at them individually with sincerity in his eyes. “I don’t know what will come of us all by end of day tomorrow. I can only pray that your pasts will burden you less.”
Gunnar glanced in Kora’s direction then looked away. She remained stoic.
“Well, I’ll drink to that!” said Titus as he raised his flask and took a long gulp.
“How is the spring water?” Kora snapped.
Titus pretended not to hear her, but Tarak did a double take. “What?”
Kora didn’t make eye contact with either man. “For several days now, Titus pretends to drink because he doesn’t want us to know how much he cares about the coming battle.”
Tarak walked towards Titus and grabbed his flask from his hands and took a swig. He brought the flask in front of his face. “It is water!”
Titus opened his hand to take back the flask. He glanced towards Kora and smiled. “Old stories can be hard to give up when you live with them long enough… like ghosts.”
“Or demons,” Nemesis chimed in.
Kora nodded and met his gaze. “Yes they can.”
Hagen entered the longhouse with the tension of the impending battle visible on his face. “The village is ready.”
General Titus stood. “Good. Whatever handful of troops they send down to collect the grain, we take them. With all our strength in the field, with no mercy, sparing none who set foot on your land.”
“And then what? Negotiate a trade? You think they would listen?” asked Hagen.
“I do,” said Titus before looking towards Kora. “But if all should go wrong, as it well may… You’ve seen to it that the dropship is still in working order and hidden from view?”
“I will.” Kora said.
All the warriors rose to their feet to prepare themselves for the incoming Imperium soldiers. Tarak approached Titus. The two men had bonded and could speak to each other as friends. Tarak screwed his face, surprised more than anything. “Water? Really, Titus?”
Titus tapped the flask on Tarak’s chest. “That’s General Titus to you…” He looked at the flask one final time and placed it on one of the longhouse tables. This battle was like no other he had to prepare for. At long last, he would face the Imperium. Perhaps, in some way, they would answer for murdering his troops just for standing up for what was true and right. Tarak grinned as he watched his friend leave.
* * *
Kora rose at sunrise to get the dropship out of sight. She knew the perfect spot. The caves behind the waterfall were only known to those who had traveled to them. It was far away enough not to be seen, but close enough to get back to village quickly. She scanned the landscape that filled her with an ache. This had to work. She prayed for a miracle. The dropship had to slow on its approach towards the cliff face. Snow from the mountains provided the valley with fresh drinking water and fertile fields, as well as creating this magnificent waterfall that was pure power as it shot down the cliff edge.
Kora guided the dropship through the water and into the mouth of the cave. Mist swirled around the engines as it landed. Kora emerged from the ship and stopped to admire the golden sunlight filtering through the water and cool mist. As she turned to leave, a shadow caught her peripheral vision. She swung around with her hand going to her hip where her gun rested. Behind the water was a silhouette of a man, or a creature. It had giant horns and what appeared to be a cape. It also held a staff. Kora took a step forward when the stranger moved around the falls. Kora couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Jimmy. He had changed. Her body relaxed and her hand moved away from her weapon.
“Hello, James.”
Jimmy stepped forward. “You know, the last person who called me that was the old commander of the Mechanicas Militarium as he died in my arms.”
“I’m sorry. I know we are supposed to be used to death. But it’s never easy.”
“It’s okay. I like the way it sounds. It makes me feel something other than hopelessness. You see, I was given memories of a world I will never see. Loyalty to a king I cannot serve and love for a child I could not save. But the sound of my name as you say it lets me feel even in the smallest why I exist at all.”
“Is that why you saved Sam?”
“I am not certain. I know only the thought of her being hurt or destroyed opened a part of me that had been closed.”
Kora stepped closer to him and gazed at the changes he made to himself, the wildness of it. “You’re choosing a side, James. You and I are alike, designed to kill for them. Understand their nightmare is you and I fighting, not because we are ordered or commanded, but to defend something we love.”
Jimmy’s eyes seemed to glow brighter as he spoke to Kora. He glanced towards the dropship then back at her. “Let me show you something.”
Jimmy led Kora outside the cave. They walked a few yards until she had to lift the back of her hand to her nose. She knew that stench. Jimmy kicked large branches with leaves covering the bodies of the Hawkshaws. Next to the bodies was a smashed transmitter. She scanned the camp and the pieces of broken tech. “How long?”
“Yesterday. This is the transmitter they were using. I’m certain they were in communication with The King’s Gaze. By now they know everything.”
Kora nodded. They both looked at the dead bodies of the three Hawkshaws, already bloating, covered with leafy branches. “You know you can’t win,” said Jimmy.
Kora turned her attention back to him. “Probably right, but I die at least on the side of honor.”
Jimmy’s eyes glowed slightly brighter. “Is there still such a thing?”
Kora searched Jimmy’s face. The only part that could be perceived as human were the small holes for eyes. Other than that, she saw an impenetrable blank shield. But there was more there. His actions showed that. His transformation was further proof.
“What do you feel, James?” she asked as she focused on his glowing eyes.
“So many things. It is all new.”
She held his gaze for a moment more then pointed at the transmitter. “Can I take this with me?”
“Absolutely. I don’t know how it will help, but please do.”
Kora took a discarded sack from the Hawkshaw camp and placed the transmitter inside.
“I better get started back down to the village. It’s a bit of a trek. Do you want to come with me?”
“Thank you for the offer. For now I can probably do best in the shadows.”
“Understood. I hope to see you again, James.” Kora extended her hand towards Jimmy. He reached out and shook her hand.
Kora left knowing she had to make good time back to the village. The air felt crisp and the sun warm. Alone, she could gather her thoughts. Perhaps that was why Jimmy wanted to remain in the forest. When Kora made it back to the village, she walked straight for the longhouse, thirsty and wanting to speak to all the warriors. She passed Tarak speaking with Hervor on the bridge. “Get the others and meet in the longhouse.”
He nodded and rushed off. Kora continued on, not knowing what to say. She would wait to see what Titus’ assessment would be.
She laid out the pieces of the transmitter on a table. The warriors stared at it. “How much do you think they know?” asked Tarak.
Kora shook her head. “We have to assume they know everything.”
All their eyes gravitated towards Titus, who had his arms crossed, with one of his index fingers tapping on his bicep as he stared at the transmitter. “Then it won’t be enough to fight defensively. We have to bring the fight to them.”
Milius had a wary look on their face. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking back to a battle when I first began my career… trenches. We need to regain an element of surprise.”
“And explosions. There should be some left behind in those crates,” added Kora.
Titus turned to Tarak and Milius. “I need you two to run to the fields and start digging like your life depends on it… because it does.” He turned to Gunnar. “We need some sort of cover for the top.”
“Yeah, I can grab a few of the villagers to see what we have.”
Titus nodded. “Go now.” He turned to Kora. “I trust you with the weapons.”
“On it,” said Kora.
* * *
The flurry of activity brought the villagers out of their homes to observe what was happening. Those strong enough helped create a maze of trenches across the field. Tarak heaved soil with the speed of a machine as sweat poured from his body with the sun beating upon his back. Villagers worked behind him to reinforce the wall with wood as he dug his final trench. Gunnar stood not far away, pointing towards him with two villagers carrying materials to cover the trenches with before disguising them with dirt. Tarak glanced over at Titus to see his reaction to their trap. He didn’t appear overly convinced, but there was no time or manpower to do anything else. This had to work.
He walked over to the trench and moved the top to give the villager an explosive left by the Imperium soldiers. “Careful now.”
Titus turned to inspect the other trenches. The man held the explosive in his hand with a look of concern before placing it in a small hole within the wall of the trench. It could be detonated by hand. Titus returned to see how it all looked. He kneeled and extended his hand to the man to help him out. As he lifted the man out of the trench the sky darkened. Both turned their faces upwards. A Dreadnought broke through the clouds. Titus scanned the village as the bell began to ring in a quick succession of loud gongs. “Take your positions!” shouted Titus.
Kora and Nemesis were carrying lumber towards the longhouse when the Dreadnought came into sight. “The time has come,” said Kora as she glanced towards Nemesis.
Nemesis looked to the sky, “This isn’t right. I should be down there with the rest of you.”
“You are the best of us. They need to see your strength.”
Nemesis looked to the sky then towards a group of children and elderly villagers making their way into the longhouse. She nodded as Kora handed her the rest of the lumber in her arms. “I have one last thing to do.”
Nemesis laid the lumber in front of the longhouse door as she spied little Eljun sneaking away from his friends in the direction of Kora. She could see in his hand a blade that reflected the sunlight. She stepped in front of Eljun before he could run off. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The little boy was startled by her voice and promptly placed both hands behind his back. He looked up at her with naïve innocence, but still held himself with confidence. “To fight. To defend family.”
Nemesis already knew the answer, but she still asked. “With what?”
He bit his lip then showed her the blade. It was a small hunting knife with a handle made from snow elk horn. She took it from his hand and inspected it, especially the blade. She tapped the tip with her metal fingertip. “Impressive. Who sharpened this for you?”
He gave her a wide grin. “I did.”
“And you did a fine job. I have no doubt you would fight with honor. But we need you here.”
He nodded as she handed the knife back to him. “Keep that safe.”
Eljun ran back to the rest of the children. Villagers and warriors began to scramble to do their duty. Those who could not fight hid in the longhouse. Sam and Aris helped the adults pile furniture against closed doors and windows. They glanced at each other with nervous energy as they entered the unknown together, not knowing if they would survive that day.
* * *
Kora walked into Gunnar’s house with more determination than in any other battle she had fought. Now it really counted. Her death would mean something—perhaps there would be some sort of redemption in it. She grabbed an old pair of shears in his kitchen then walked into his washroom. She stared at her reflection in a mirror on the wall in front of a basin on a wooden cabinet. For so long she hadn’t felt proud of how she left the Imperium. She wanted to look into the mirror and feel hope again. She lifted the shears to her chin-length hair and made the first cut. Her hair would be in the style of the Imperium soldiers, close to the scalp and not a distraction to the task at hand—to kill. Her black locks fell away, as did her fear to die for what she believed what was right.