Paul patted Zadar on the shoulder, laughing. “Bewitching, isn’t it? Look, it’s cold out here. I think we need to discuss the matter in greater detail over some hot buttered rum.”
Jonathan nudged Zadar, “We may be ages younger than you, but we do know that hot food and drink along with good company can make any riddle easier to solve.”
Zadar smiled and nodded. Together, the three scampered up the ramp in search of an early meal and hearty drinks with Zadar getting answers to troubling questions.
* * *
Darla and Euroaquilo rested in two of the folding command chairs on the captain’s bridge, the surgeon having departed after tending Darla’s injuries. No one questioned the couple’s flimsy excuse of her stumbling against the elevator handrail. Long ago the ship’s medical officer learned not to pry into other’s business, not when they were soldiers like Darla and Euroaquilo. Besides, it would do no good. They had disclosed what was necessary to make out a report, and that was all there would ever be to it, ever.
With her ribs wrapped and having taken a mild pain killer, Darla relaxed with a steaming beverage, attentively listening while Euroaquilo filled in details concerning the early days of the Rebellion just after Mihai’s being attacked by Asotos. There was a sudden explosion of blinding light that flashed through the portholes and across the bridge, instantly followed by crashing thunder that shook the entire ship, jolting both Euroaquilo and Darla.
When the rumbling subsided, Euroaquilo wryly commented, “These are really quite flimsy machines without their energy shields. In fact, I doubt the best of our dreadnaughts could hold up to the stresses of the jump portals without ‘em. When you’re
all wrapped up in those protective swaddling bands, you forget just how fragile a world we have created should those shields ever fail.”
Darla nodded, saying nothing.
Lightning again flashed across the darkened bridge, quickly followed by another rumble of angry thunder. Euroaquilo smiled. “This storm will delay our departure. It gives us a little more time to chat before I have to get the crew up to do their preflight checks. Come on, let me show you something.”
Taking Darla’s hand, the two walked forward, stopping at a large porthole.
Euroaquilo rocked back, supporting his weight on his heels. “The first time I stood here, in this very spot, I saw a tarmac filled with countless warships, hundreds of big cruisers along with thousands of smaller ships. For as far as the eye could see, there were ships preparing for war.” He rocked forward. “Yep, right here on this very spot.”
Darla slid her arm around Euroaquilo’s waist, asking, “So you have been on this ship before? When?”
Smiling, Euroaquilo answered, “This was the first big dreadnaught I captained. I also commanded a half dozen tenders and support ships, something typical back then for a capital ship of this size.”
He stared out the window, watching the lightning dance across the ragged sky, but his mind wandered to past events. “I was so nervous, sure that every captain in the fleet was scrutinizing me, judging me as to fitness for such an important position. I wanted to do everything just right. Well, when I looked out across the gathering armada, I could not believe in anything but a swift victory. Nothing this big had ever been assembled, and it wasn’t just here. Why, we were collecting everything we had. At every port in the Empire, warships were assembling.” Looking at Darla, he asked, “Do you recall hearing about Operation Willow? It was a grand operation staged in the latter part of the Great War, leading up to the Day of Tears.”
Darla replied, “No, I was serving in a combat platoon stationed at Mordem at that time. I had taken a stint in the army for a change of scenery. What was Operation Willow?”
Euroaquilo explained, “It was command’s idea that the war might be decided in naval combat if we could concentrate a large enough flotilla of ships in one general area.
By hitting the enemy with overwhelming force we, it was believed, would decimate Asotos’ defending fleets with little loss to ours. Then, we would roll up the fence, taking out one after another of his scattered armadas, driving him out of our Empire. With the skies cleared of his intrusions, we could bypass his occupying, landed forces and proceed with our own invasion of his territories.”
He shook his head sadly. “It might have worked if we hadn’t been betrayed by spies.
Asotos got wind of it in time to make counter-preparations. The day we sallied forth into these skies, singing our victory songs as if the battle was over, the die had already been cast. We were sailing off into the biggest bloodbath in the history of all our wars.” He asked, still looking out the porthole, “Do you know much about the Day of Tears?”
Darla answered hesitantly, “A little… I was there for some of it.” Then, in the same breath, she requested, “Please, tell me about your part in it, you know, things you have never shared with me in your dreams.”
Euroaquilo raised an eyebrow, pondering. Darla’s interest concerning his part in the Day of Tears debacle was curious, seeing she already knew so much about it through
their dream shares. Still, he would fill in a few details first, and then probe for other answers after. “As you may already know, our battle group of thirty-some fighting ships under the command of Admiral Lonche had been running picket duty to the Q-south and west of point during the first three days of the contest. Action was light, mostly skirmishes among our outrider patrols. Well, just after midnight, we received distress calls from Admiral NachlieliTzach’s Fourteenth Fleet that it was under heavy attack and falling back with mounting losses.
“Fully understanding the need to maintain our fighting line in that sector to prevent the main body from being flanked, Admiral Lonche ordered our battle group to advance to the Fourteenth’s aid. My attack group being the furthest south made contact with the enemy first. We joined the contest in support of two damaged carriers that were under heavy attack, flying right into a hornet’s nest. It appeared as if the entire enemy navy was upon us. We mixed it up as best we could but, by the time the remainder of Lonche’s battle group arrived, half my fighting ships were destroyed or disabled.
“DusmeAstron had taken several hits, but was holding strong. Then, about three hours into the fight, a missile tore into our already damaged port engine room, tearing the outer pod to pieces, killing everyone in the engine room and condensing chamber. Our boiler rooms and reactor went offline, leaving us with only our auxiliary backup systems.
“With weakened energy shields, we became more susceptible to enemy missiles.
The ship absorbed several smaller strikes, fouling our ventilation systems, damaging the gravity machines and starting fires. Then we took a hit right outside the hull, here, where I’m standing, sending a concussive blast filled with thousands of metal shards across the navigation bridge. Six of the crew were torn asunder from the explosion, several more severely wounded.
“I was standing behind the navigation tower, back there, when the missile hit, saving me from death. Still, my eardrums were ruptured and I was in a daze, having hit my head on the bosun’s rail. I staggered to my feet, making my way forward to explore the damage and stopped here to catch my breath, glancing out this porthole as I did. What I saw made my heart sink. There, before me, while fire crews fought to save the ship and medics did the same to save lives, in silence I stared into the face of our coming doom.”
“What was it?!” Darla asked, eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve never told me about this.”
With furrowed brow, Euroaquilo stared at Darla, observing, “I guess we all have our little private secrets…” and returned to his account. “There, I’d say about five miles out, the ancient carrack, Ambrosia, was making steam for DusmeAstron. That old capital ship was designed for slow speed ramming, and it was bearing down on us at about the speed of a horse’s trot. I could count the seconds until impact, seeing in my mind’s eye its jagged ram ripping a hole the size of a house through our already weakened hull.
Death would be quick. But the living - as I waited for the coming end - was nearly unbearable. I could only stand there, helpless, and watch. No calling ‘abandon ship!’…
no time… no running or fighting back. Just stand there and wait to die.”
Euroaquilo leaned forward, placing his hand on the porthole. His head sank in thought, remembering that day many years ago. Darla believed he again stood his post, seeing his coming doom. Or was it something else, an understanding of future events suddenly becoming clear in the man’s mind? Before she could utter her trepidation,
Euroaquilo lifted his head, peering into her eyes. A sad smile crept across his face. “I learned a most important lesson that day, one that I hope to never forget.”
Euroaquilo sighed, looking out the window again, “My Dear One, true heroes drink not from the victory glass, nor do they tell the tales of their adventures. True heroes lie moldering under the grassy glade or ever drift aimlessly amongst the frozen stars. The true hero, with free will, surrenders up all for souls in his charge, the broken and helpless who have no choice over life or death, but have only hope - a fool’s hope - a hope for a hero to come rescue them.”
Darla began glancing out the portal as if she, too, might see the giant carrack pressing ever closer, excitedly asking, “Tell me, please! What hero happened by you that day?”
As misty eyes stared through the portal into distant memories, Euroaquilo answered,
“Ambrosia was maybe a quarter of a mile away and approaching, having maintained its speed. Suddenly, our of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Admiral Lonche’s flagship, LorrieMay, as it flashed past our hull, back-drafting its engines to overload its reactors as it went over us. An instant later, I was blinded by a horrific firestorm when LorrieMay tore through Ambrosia.” He looked over at Darla with tear-filled eyes.
“Admiral Lonche blew that son-of-a-bitch into a million pieces! ”
Taking Darla’s hand, Euroaquilo added remorsefully, “We were as good as dead, useless for battle, no one of any importance aboard. There was no reason to save us.
LorrieMay was still in fighting trim, we just sitting ducks. Admiral Lonche surrendered up everything that day for us, because he could. He gave to us life when we had no life left within ourselves. Now that’s a real hero...” He shook his head, puzzling, “To this day, I ponder his reasons for saving us. He had so much to give, being an Ancient, among the first to sit the Council of Twenty-four, even a healer. Why he wasted it all on us, I don’t know. I sometimes wonder if the Empire would be in such a pathetic mess as it is today if we had not lost so many heroes like the good admiral.”
The loss of Admiral Lonche had been a blow to Darla, too, she having served under his command aboard the escort carrier, DamonShoals, during the Persian Insurrection, some fifteen-hundred years before, another major defeat for the Children’s Empire which ushered in hundreds of years of darkness for the Second Realm. Little had been chronicled up to this time as regards the Day of Tears other than the roster of those killed, wounded and missing. So Darla knew only that the admiral and his entire crew were killed during the battle.
(Author’s Note: Finhardt’s, Copeland’s, and Sandevar’s exhaustive work, The Slaughterhouse Chronicles, details the six day battle, events leading up to it, and the aftermath. It is the most comprehensive account to date, the University of Memphis listing it as one of the ten most important histories of the Great War. ) Darla lowered her head, staring at the floor. “I, too, suffered his loss, he being such a great man, gentle and caring.” She then peered into Euroaquilo’s eyes, questioning,
“How, though, can you say his loss and the loss of others like him has placed us in such a precarious situation, other than those who direct us from afar are weak and afraid, wishing always to surrender us up to defeat by compromise and diplomacy?”
Euroaquilo responded, “You speak wisdom about some of our counselors and political generals, but I think that may soon change. What I talk about is leadership. You see, the Great War was terrible, with weapons of mass destruction being implemented to monumental degrees. I believe it was the loss of the old guard that helped that along, also. Many of them were wizards of sorts, having extraordinary powers. They chose the sword and buckler, you know, hand-to-hand combat over mechanized weapons. We entered the Great War following those leaders who were soon swallowed up in death because of the very battle tactics they decided upon.
“One hears whispers that some of the Ancients were not like the other children, like us. Rumors there are that they possessed special powers, connecting them to the secrets of the universe…the reason for their uncanny abilities. Gabrielle still possesses such, like her talent of being able to communicate through the mind, far across the galaxy. But even an uncanny mind is hard-pressed to stop a missile cast from miles away, or halt a bullet once unleashed for the hunt. The enemy changed the battle plan while our leaders resisted with vigor…still do. So, like young shoots in a blistering heat, our old guard, taking the lead at the head of our armies, withered away under the fiery rage of modern war.”
Shaking his head, Euroaquilo sighed, “It was a terrible loss. Oh yes, many brave soldiers perished, too, but with our healers, healing machines, and our own rapid self-curing abilities, the vast majority of our people survived the combat. By a disproportionate number, our leaders did not, leaving a void to be filled with less able and inexperienced leaders. They’re still brave, some foolishly so, but they have not learnt the lessons from past conflicts. The sword, crossbow, and catapult are subjects, still, of their favorite songs. The glorious cavalry charge is the supreme form of valor to our romantic samurai. And they still have the ears of the council.”
Darla frowned, thinking of the many contests she and her companions had fought in.
“It has been my experience that most of our leaders give little more than directions. It is the warrior on the ground or in the fighter’s cockpit that extinguishes Asotos’ flame. We stand alone upon the sordid field, facing the enemy, our leader the raised sword, and our champion the smell of our enemy’s fear in our flaring nostrils.”
Euroaquilo leaned back from the porthole, reaching out and tussling Darla’s hair.
“My Dear, if our armies had more of your kind, I doubt that Asotos would have an army left to defend his castle, let alone hold his empire together. He would be hiding in the rocks right now, trembling in fright concerning future days.”
Euroaquilo then offered that they relax in the bridge chairs. After doing so, he went on to explain, “You have seen or have heard reports of how the people follow Mihai in combat. Why, just her presence can turn the tide of battle. Entire armies hiding behind crumbling breastworks and cowering in defeat will stand defiant when they see her battle colors enter the contest. With cries of victory, they will charge into the thickest of fights because she leads them.” He shook his head, saddened, “Many were the leaders like that when the wars began.”
Darla responded, respectfully defiant, her eyes ablaze with passion, “Never have I been gifted to follow such a leader! My kind have not cowered behind anything, waiting to be led! We have taken the battle to our enemy, waiting not upon a master to direct us.
We fight for a cause that is greater than any of us. We stand the gore and stink of the
field, the dread and destruction of that wasted land for that very cause. My kind need no leaders to follow, only men wise enough to allow us to finish our duties.”
Euroaquilo nodded. “What you say has great merit but, sadly, few of our brothers and sisters have such power within themselves. They need someone to give them that power.”
Darla disagreed. “I don’t understand this at all. From my perspective, what I’ve seen is that the leaders receive accolades for the victory while the ones who have forced the battle lay silently rotting upon the field or convalescing behind curtained walls in a secluded hospital or sanatorium. There are few leaders who would dare stand where I have planted my feet in final contest. Repeatedly, my companions and I have reaped the whirlwind, leaderless, many falling like leaves around me while we stood unmovable at our post. We waited for no one to give us power, but found it within ourselves.”
Euroaquilo asked, curious, “Do you view Mihai to be such a leader as you’ve described?” Darla was quite adamant that was not the case. Leaning forward and taking Darla’s hands in his, and then resting his hands on her knee, Euroaquilo explained, “Not everyone is like your kind. My child of few mornings, you are a leader, too. Many there are of the leaders not yet recognized, but they are still leaders, nonetheless.
“My Dear, there are many brave souls who do not know how to lead even themselves. They need someone to show them valor so that they can understand it. They need to see bravery to find it within themselves. A good leader, by chance or by knowledge, manages to tap into the hearts of those who follow, building up their spirit, for at least the moment, so that they, too, can do heroic things. It is to those leaders that accolades should be given. They have earned it.”
Squeezing her hands, Euroaquilo added, “I have watched and observed. By your very nature, you are an outstanding leader! I imagine the reasons for you to be surrounded by so many brave and stalwart companions are that they have fed off an uncanny power you also exude. You are a wonderful example of leadership. I have watched it from afar for many years. And…it was that kind of leadership these many wars have stolen from us, leaving us so deficient of it.”
He smiled. “Still, we do have some good leaders among us, and that should bring us hope…Mihai, Gabrielle, Lord PalaHar and Lady Tizrela to mention only a few. And some of those delivered here from the Realms Below, I’m quite impressed with them.
Our new field marshal, Trisha, and the others who sat the council the other night? Quite impressive, indeed…indeed. They will turn the tide of battle for sure and, I believe, will have an impact on the councils of the future. They will also, like your kind, take the battle to the enemy, giving no quarter, demanding total victory.”
Darla sat, reflecting on Euroaquilo’s thought-provoking words, wondering why he should call her a leader.
During this silence, Euroaquilo took opportunity to advance a brewing question.
“My Dusme, many are the dreams we have shared since the Great War, yet never have you revealed your adventures in this great and terrible battle. Now you speak to me concerning your experiences regarding the Day of Tears in such an off-handed way so as to dismiss it. Please share with me the moments of your glory during that conflict. Why hide it from me any longer?”
Darla’s jaw stiffened and her expression soured. At length, she relented, “To you I will speak of this matter, but you must not tell another soul for its pain is too deep for my ears to hear it repeated. Until the healing day, it must remain secret.”
Euroaquilo promised he would keep it so.
Darla slumped as if in remorse, tears welling up in her eyes. Resigned to her fate, she began her account. “My platoon had been together for just over a year, I being its senior officer. We had already participated in six major engagements up to that time, having lost eighty percent of our original complement and, even with replacements, were currently down to only seventeen troopers reporting for duty. Our acting company commander, First Leftenant Ricteer, had ordered us dug in above Mordem Heights, which we held from spring to mid-summer. The constant, soaking rains and lack of sanitary conditions were making us all sick. By early summer we were calling ourselves the ‘Mudpuppies’ because of how badly we stunk and the deplorable living conditions we called ‘home’.”
“When High Command asked for volunteers to man transports for a gathering invasion fleet, I offered up the Mudpuppies, seeing we should all die soon if we remained in those filthy trenches much longer. We shipped aboard some wreck of an ore freighter converted into a transport…I don’t even recall its name…our job being to support the crew and maintain the safety of the ship. It was little better than what we left behind.
Not really. We had hot food, warm showers, dry bunks to sleep in, our duties weren’t overbearing and we had a good ship’s captain. In short order, we’d settled into keeping things safe for the six hundred men and women of the Eleventh Infantry Battalion, they suffering far worse from their overcrowded living conditions.
“Twelve days out, we were joined by six other transports and their support ships and were only hours away from Commodore CythereaNoah’ha’s Third Teleohodos Battle Group. The captain had just heaved off the lines from a supply ship and had called down my fire crew when all hell broke loose. Several squadrons of enemy fighters and heavies slammed into us without warning. We were sitting ducks, eight lightly armed transports, a half dozen merchantmen, and all defended by two cutters, an ancient barq, and a handful of antique fighters facing over thirty frontline enemy attackers.
“Our fire station was aft the main hold, near the stern. After securing the grappling hooks in the lazarette and refusing stays on the refilled canisters of thallium oxysulfide, my crew of nine departed, leaving the remainder of the stowage work for the incoming fire crew. Following the captain’s shipboard combat zone protocol, we remained suited up and on internal life support systems until we were safely retired from the fuel storage compartments. It’s a good thing we did.
“We had only just entered the second deck safety locker, in process of closing the lower hatch, when exploding torpedoes ignited the thallium oxysulfide, creating a massive firestorm that engulfed the hold, incinerating everyone below and aft of us. The ship’s energy systems couldn’t take the strain, rupturing our shields and buckling the first deck, which tore everything on that level asunder. Corporal JasmiKusbi and Private SoshieZulita were instantly sucked out through the hatch, while the rest of us were slammed about like rag dolls in a whirlwind until the hatch fully sealed. Had it remained opened one more second, none of us would have survived.
“Things happened so fast. The floor of our locker buckled, twisting its walls up something dreadful, but somehow it held long enough for us to escape through an
emergency hatch into the boson’s pantry and out through the officers’ mess. We were very fortunate because our fire suits were not only self-contained, but made of much tougher material than ordinary suits, being designed for harsh duty. Those suits saved us that day. I later heard that our platoon sergeant, LeviaBritt, was cast to the skies when the ship blew apart, being rescued several hours later by search scullers.”
Darla’s mind drifted into private thoughts, staring off into space as if reliving some particular moment in her life. When she realized what had happened, she tried to make excuse. Euroaquilo smiled politely, acting as though he had not noticed, commenting about how warm the room was getting while handing her a kerchief to wipe her sweating forehead.
Thanking him, she went on. “As we stumbled along the debris-filled companionway, searching for a means to reach the upper levels, we heard cries and screams of the trapped, injured and dying, also shouts of others trying to escape or assist those in need. There was nothing we could do to help, what with the numerous fires breaking out, filling the passageway with noxious smoke, along with terrified soldiers packing the narrow walkway. My responsibility was to save my fire crew, realizing that the entire second deck could collapse at any moment, sending us all into the bitter cold of deep space.
“With only flashing emergency lights to see by and the deafening bleating of alarms in our ears, we found it very hard to locate our escape from the second deck, which was rapidly tearing apart. We were moving forward along the main passageway, expecting at any moment to be crushed by collapsing bulkheads or swept from the ship through a buckling deck. To our left we could hear a constant tearing and screeching of metal as deck plates and compartments gave way to the ever-hungry vacuum of space.
“At length, we took a narrow passage that went to the right, I recalling it led to an emergency hatch that went to the third deck. Finding and opening the hatch, we assisted two dozen or so who’d followed us up to that third level. Being the last one, I secured the hatch, fearing we would lose the seals on the second deck at any moment. My heart ached to think of my brothers and sisters trapped below, but could only hope they might find another way of escape.
“Exiting a tiny containment chamber, we found ourselves on the shuttle bridge.
Already it was packed with people, nearly impossible to move. Everything was rushed, my mind racing, occupied with concerns for my fire crew and the need to locate the others in my platoon, so much so that I ignored the people around me as best I could, only reflecting back on those events in the lonely hours while awaiting my rescue. To this day guilt haunts me, for what I witnessed there makes me feel that much more the miscreant and coward.”
Euroaquilo attempted to make excuse for Darla by calling attention to the fickle winds of war. Darla would have none of it. “I watched the real heroes that day…the crew of that tramp freighter fighting so hard to save lives, the duty officers and other Marines assisting the injured and confused, calming others in a panic, and… and sacrificing everything so someone else could hope for a chance to live.
“A midshipman feverishly worked to help load one of the shuttles, clothed only in her officer’s kepi. Another sailor surrendered up his oxygen suit to an injured soldier before assisting her into a shuttle. There was no panic, the officers in charge refusing to permit that. No, while I scrambled about to find escape, those brave warriors stood their
stations. I doubt few of them survived, and yet how many of my comrades owe their lives to them?
“Give me a minute, please...” Darla excused herself and walked toward the back of the bridge and past the elevator. Euroaquilo believed he heard quiet sobs, but remained where he sat, waiting upon Darla’s privacy. Eventually the woman returned, sitting again, but remained silent for some time. Finally, through reddened eyes, she looked into Euroaquilo’s.
“I could not locate any of my other platoon members, so I attempted to get my fire crew queued up to board the shuttles. The lines were very long. It was decided that my second duty officer, Corporal AsteiosAllotrios, and I would go up to the fourth deck to search for our remaining platoon members and, if unsuccessful, make our attempted escape via one of the several tethered craft riding piggyback on the ship’s hull.
“With the elevators and all the main portals secured, we made our way aft to where the shuttle bay bulkhead separated the bay from the ready chambers, which were still intact. There we found an escape ladder going up through an emergency hatch that remained operable. We scurried up the ladder as best we could, what with the bulky fire suits and extra life support tanks we were still carrying. Asteios spun the mechanical locking system release, pushed hard to open the hatch, struggled to get through the opening, I helping by giving her a gentle shove.
“Asteios had made it just halfway when another explosion racked the doomed ship.
The hatch triggered automatically to close, slamming down a smashing blow on Asteios’
back. I heard her scream of agony in my headset before she passed out. Then everything went crazy.
“The shuttle bay was still holding, as well as the chamber above us, but the power died, leaving us in almost total darkness. Then the gravity machines failed, at first intermittently, which was deadly dangerous. I heard cries of the injured and dying when some crashed back to the floor or were crushed by falling objects. How I remained on the ladder, I cannot recall.
“Finally, the gravity machines failed completely. Fortunately, the red, flashing firelights activated, helping us see a little bit. In that eerie, pulsing world of mayhem, I somehow managed to push open the hatch, freeing my unconscious companion, an easier thing to do without the gravity systems working. My biggest fear during this time was that those machines might start up again, sending me plummeting into the living morass below. It was a struggle, but I managed to seal the hatch while holding firm to Asteios’
suit, something that, I believe, saved many lives, seeing what soon happened to that fourth deck compartment.
“The area we entered was called the ‘aft ready transfer station’, one of the ship’s several docking bays with access hatches to tethered shuttles riding piggyback on the transport. It was a ghastly sight to behold. An earlier firestorm had ravaged the place, killing anyone in this area at the time. The only living souls on that deck were recent arrivals like us. Seeing the situation, I decided to attempt our escape by way of one of the tethered crafts, hoping there might still be one able to give us safe escape from the ship’s coming doom.
“Searching the destruction, I found most of the exit hatches lighted up red, or flashing red, which indicated empty tethers or ruined shuttles. The ones where I saw no lights at all I never attempted, not knowing what might be there. My heart sank, feeling
that we were come to our destruction. Then, just about the time I was beginning to surrender our fate, I spotted a green glint out of the corner of my eye. Holding my duty officer snuggly by her harness, I pushed off for the light, only to come crashing down to the tortured deck some feet away because the gravity machines began working again.
“Having twisted my ankle in that fall made it very difficult for me, but thankfully the gravity machine was not operating at full power. I managed to hobble my way through the tangle and up the twelve-foot climb to that shining green ray of hope above us. After what seemed an eternity, I was at the top of the ladder, with a semiconscious Asteios tied off to my fire line, lying on the deck down below. Hesitantly, I pushed the release button, fearing there was no rescue on the other side of the hatch, only to be sucked into the black cold of empty space.
“But no! There was rescue…what, at the moment, I could not tell. About four feet away was another closed hatch that opened into an escape craft, its safety light, too, still green. Crawling into the connecting tube, I hit the switch and the most pleasant sound of servos met my ears, revealing the cockpit of an old T-4 fighter. It only took a minute or so, but it seemed like hours after I had crawled into the tiny ship and managed to pull Asteios up to safety.
“Asteios’ feet had just cleared the hatch when I felt a terrible rumble and heard a roar and then someone crying for help. I looked down the connecting tube in time to see a hand reaching up through roiling smoke. An instant later all was quiet, the entrance hatch having slid shut, its sensors automatically closing us off from the destruction below.
“There was no time to think about the fate of that poor soul who was so close to escape. I frantically worked removing Asteios’ life-support tanks and firefighting gear so I could secure her in the fore navigator’s seat. I also had to remove my helmet and extra gear because of the tight spaces there. She groaned so in pain as I secured the harness over her shoulders. I knew I was torturing her, but there was nothing else for it.
“I was almost finished, leaning back, when I was startled by a sudden thud. On the fighter’s canopy next to my head, I glanced up, almost falling over in shock. For just an instant of time, I stared into frozen eyes that were blankly staring back at me. My mind can still see it as clearly now as I saw it then. The most beautiful of white marble statues looked in serenely upon me, smiling so carefree. It was carved so flawlessly perfect in every detail, the work of a master sculptor. Then it was gone, my mind having not been able to comprehend that it was not a statue but a once living, breathing woman with the same hopes, loves and desires I possessed.” Darla looked into Euroaquilo’s eyes. “She must have been already dead when cast into those icy seas, for the death that awaits those thrown into a vacuum alive is often much more gruesome.”
Euroaquilo only nodded in agreement.
Darla continued while fidgeting with her fingers, “Though the corpse quickly passed by, it was instantly replaced with the most horrific and macabre of scenes I ever witnessed. Many are the fields of slaughter I have stood upon, but nothing ever to compare to that hour, that place, that horror. My demon cannot conjure up a more horrific nightmare than what appeared before me in that hour.
“Debris of every description continued to erupt from the dying troopship. Fiery smoke filled with litter, machines, flotsam and jetsam, and yes, bodies, dozens upon dozens being cast from the monster’s belly, whole and in pieces. The men and women on
that ship were being consumed by the ever hungry emptiness of space. At times I would see people, alive, being flung from some newly erupted hole in the beast, thrashing about only seconds before silently drifting away, frozen forever in their last gasp for life.
“There were a few shuttles detaching from the ship, getting away safe for the moment. But there were other shuttles still secured to the hull or held loosely by some tether lines that never moved, their passengers eternally waiting rescue. One, less than ten yards from my fighter, drifted free of its mooring though it was still attached by guy wires to the hull. It lazily rotated round and round, the gaping holes in its sides revealing the fruitage of the pointless murder, dozens of more names to be inscribed in the Silent Tombs. And this nightmarish vision was but one of so many that overwhelmed my senses. As if in very slow motion, I was watching the end of the world…one person at a time.” She hung her head in remorse. “And there was nothing I could but watch it dissolve around me...”
Euroaquilo started to offer some comforting words.
Darla’s head snapped up with tear-filled, angry eyes staring into his, retorting, “You shall not interrupt me or, for a certainty, I will refuse you this tale! My heart is already overwhelmed to the point of breaking. My words, my way, or the struggle will be too great for me to relive with my speech. Better it is that I should have died that day. Then, for absolution I would not have begged these many years.”
Nodding with understanding, Euroaquilo remained silent. He knew Darla was guilty of no sin requiring absolution, but he could well fathom the remorse and guilt that often floods a warrior’s heart when the winds of war allow that person life while it rips it away from so many others. Only now did he begin to comprehend why this woman never shared these dreams with him. If only recalling events by speech was ruining her so, how could she have survived the trauma that a dream share would produce?
The rage over her own guilt did not diminish in her eyes, or the self-loathing in her angry tone, as she went into a rant. “You think me innocent?! I damn well am not innocent! I did nothing! Nothing! There I sat, in a most fearsome fighting craft, one like I had flown countless sorties in, and I could not gather my wits to leave off the panic of securing my rescue and escape! Oh, I the coward, standing the breach with power unimagined, and I could not think to use it for other than a pardon from death. I am so ashamed...”
She broke down crying, releasing pent-up energies that had built up over these many years. Euroaquilo did nothing, keeping his promise, fully understanding that ‘upon every soldier must the night watch fall’. Alone, the picket must stand the post, unto death or the morning light. It is the battle each sentinel must undertake.
Gradually her tears subsided until, after one final whimper, Darla continued, “I tell you, many were the soldiers who kept their wits about them. If it hadn’t been for the insane actions of those brave warriors, I doubt anyone would have lived to tell the tale of that day.
“The gun crews on the transport never left their stations to make an escape. As the madness unfolded around me, I saw the fiery spray of red, blue and green tracers lighting up the blackness, those gun turrets ever swinging back and forth to pour iron and death upon the enemy. They stood their posts to the end, dying with their fingers frozen on the triggers.
“And our fighters! Those heroic pilots fought with a madness few have ever witnessed. Many of the scrap heaps they flew were relics when we charged Memphis’
gates during the Third Megiddo War, but in the hands of those warriors, they were first-rate killing machines. Why, sometimes one would take on five or six of the enemy’s best, breaking up one attack after another.
“A fighter blasted past, guns all ablaze, just clearing the transport’s hull. I watched amazed, seeing the pilot paying no heed to the fire and smoke belching out of the gaping holes in it. Others I saw took on heavies, hurtling themselves against the overwhelming onslaught with careless abandon. They dove like hornets upon evil intruders, holding back the unleashing of their ordnance until right on top of the enemy. And when their guns went empty, some made their own fighters into missiles of destruction, turning those heavies into caldrons of flaming death.
“The troop ship was lazily spinning larboard, round and round, providing me a panoramic view of this world of chaos. Slowly, like a full moon rising over the hills, I witnessed a sight my eyes could not believe. In the distance, I could see two cutters circling three of the troop transports, their defensive fire keeping many of the attackers at bay. One of them, I believe, was named ‘Cranberry’. I recall that because it was moored alongside our transport before departure.
“The cutter was an old squat thing, a converted collier possibly from before the Three Hundred Years’ War. Anyway, when it came around and turned hard to starboard, I saw that everything in front of the fore bulkhead was a twisted jumble of wreckage, with similar destruction on the upper decks all the way back past the captain’s bridge, the outer hull being completely blown away over the communications and battle bridges.
“Cranberry was slowly dissolving into nothing, just like our troop ship, but it was still heavy into the fight. Somehow, the remaining crew managed to maneuver that ship, keeping it between the enemy and the transports. All the while, the gun crews heated up the sky with their cannons and torpedoes. I never knew what became of that gallant ship and its brave crew. The annals from the Day of Tears don’t even list Cranberry on its roster nor does it mention this horrific little battle.”
Darla’s words became sharp and bitter. “I watched a sky full of heroes that day.
They fought with abandon, not to save their own asses, but to save the helpless and weak!
No battle flags waved them forward. No glorious words to assuage troubled hearts.
They were the leaders, the wonderful throng who stood the line without orders, defending this Empire…if it deserves defending. Their names are forgotten, not deserving of the council’s attention, worthless little people who did only what they were supposed to do, nothing more, nothing less. Why, isn’t that what they signed on to do, anyway?”
(Author’s Note: Cranberry survived the battle Darla witnessed, but was abandoned because of extensive damage. Of the seventy officers and crew, thirty-two were lost, another twenty-one wounded. Salvage crews eventually took the ship in tow, delivering it to the DowHardy Navy Depot on Stargaton. There it languished in the salvage yards until broken up for scrap in the days just before the King’s War… See The Slaughterhouse Chronicles, pp. 892-4, Vol. II. ) Darla sighed long and sad, becoming quiet and morose to the point that Euroaquilo believed she had finished with her account. She had not. Staring across the bridge
through the window at the lashing rain, she continued, “I finally came to my wits and released the securing pins locking the fighter to the transport’s mooring station. We were just floating free. I was about to charge the engines when two enemy fighters swept over the ship. One opened fire on us, six tiny red tracers blurring across my vision. The fighters blasted past, leaving us and not returning. Whether we were considered a valueless target or they were out of ordnance, I don’t know, but the damage done was sufficient to be devastating.
“Computer systems, communications, hydraulics, electrical, the main thrusters, even life support systems were damaged or destroyed. There we were, tethered by a single line, unable to escape certain death should the giant holding us fast decide to shudder in fear or erupt in anger. And then smoke began seeping up from the bomb bay compartment into the cockpit. I needed to do something, and it needed to be done fast.
“I rummaged through my firefighter’s gear, finding a Plesso wrench. I took its claw end to rip loose the pilot’s power control panel, and then used its side cutters to snip the lead wires going to the computer. After stripping the insulation, I managed to short out the security system, releasing us from the tether line. Then I took to jumping wires to ignite the engines, which didn’t happen. When I was about at my wits end, I finally located the main switch wires for the vertical lift retro-rockets.
“Touching those leads together set all four of the rockets ablaze, sending us cartwheeling away from the troopship. Fortunately, it was away and not toward, because I couldn’t shut the rockets down. It took me forever to jerry-rig the retro-switches before I gained enough control to stabilize the fighter, much of the wiring harness having melted when I touched those leads together, having been forced to bypass the fuses in my hurry.
By the time I got the retro-power under control, we were hundreds of miles from the fleet, drifting alone in this vast emptiness.
“While I was still struggling with the controls, about four miles or so from the transport, there was this blinding orange fireball that lit up the cockpit. Looking up, I saw the fore and aft ends of my troop transport tumble off into space, leaving a glowing, white cloud of burning debris where the ship had once been. It’s funny as I think about it. I was working so frantically to get that old T-4 under control, I gave that event little notice until now.
“Sometime after the Armistice, I was visited in the convalescent hospital by Corporal SaleenHavson, the platoon’s clerk and my bunkmate. The corporal was part of my fire crew, escaping on the last shuttle to make it out before the troopship exploded.”
Darla hung her head in remorse, speaking in little more than a whisper, “Saleen was killed by Stasis Pirates less than two months ago.” She then wiped a tear from her eye and cleared her throat. “Anyway, Saleen filled me in on the fate of that ship.
“The gallant crew saved nearly three-fourths of the troops aboard the ship, losing over half of their own doing so. They surrendered up their lives to save over four hundred others. Of my platoon, everyone other than the fire crew did not survive the initial attack, their barracks being one deck above the main boiler which blew up when the fuel storage hold was destroyed. Of my fire crew, only four including me survived to tell of that event, Saleen being the only member to survive totally unscathed that day.
“Two of my crew, Privates TeleoZugos and DeuroHorkos gave their fire suits to some injured comrades and remained behind to assist the ship’s company. With the death of Saleen, Sergeant LeviaBritt and I are the sole remaining survivors from the
Mudpuppy Platoon, and Levia was so badly damaged later at the Battle of Memphis that she cannot recall her own name. I visit her at the High Banks Sanatorium up north of here whenever I get the chance. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she recognizes me.
I think it lifts her spirits when I come.”
Darla groaned as she stood, her legs aching from sitting too long, making her way back to the elevator, leaning over the rail to view the sights below. DusmeAstron was equipped with multi-leaf safety hatches on each deck so that spreading out like flower petals the hatches would close off the elevator opening and seal the separate floors of the ship up tight. When opened, like it was now, the exposed parts of the hatch wings pulsed green with hundreds of tiny lights. When the lights began flashing red, it was a warning to stand clear the elevator shaft.
Euroaquilo watched Darla from his officer’s chair. She was always so beautiful in form and comeliness, so concerned about how well kept she appeared. Yet today, the woman looked old, aged like the mountains, haggard. The long wars had not been nice to her, she having fought in nearly all of them. How many of her lovers’ and companions’
names were written now on the Silent Tombs? He pondered. She had lost so much, given so much, endured so much. Could her frail body continue to weather the persistent storms hurled against her? He shuddered to think of his visions and the coming prisoner exchange. Would that day be her Armageddon? Would she survive to tell of its passing?
In time, Darla returned to her chair. Staring out the distant portal, she noticed that although the driving winds were diminished, rain still ruled the sky. Staring into folded hands, she continued her account.
“By the time I got control of the retrorockets, we were alone in the galaxy. All I knew was that we were somewhere in the Oreion Shelf Region, a most unhealthy place to be. This was still very much enemy-held territory, and was a well-known haunt of the Stasis Pirates. But we did have patrols in the area, and a few military encampments scattered about the star systems. There were also some neutral colonies within range where rescue might be afforded. Still, even that was a reach. I needed to find help soon or there would be no worry about who found us. Asteios and I would only be a couple of frozen castaways drifting through a cosmic wonderland of an eternal evening.
“Smoke and toxic fumes were gathering in force. If it hadn’t been for the chemical filter canisters on our fire suits, I doubt we could have survived. I locked Asteios’ helmet on, she crying out in pain at my slightest touch. When I explained to her what I was doing, she begged me to let her die. I could not.
“I figured we had ten good hours of clean air from those filters…longer if we conserved our energy. I foolishly attempted to do without my canister, thinking it better to save it for Asteios, if need be. After I puked twice, almost passing out the second time, I had no choice but to use the apparatus. My radio was broken in my helmet, so communication was impossible. I have no idea the suffering Asteios went through. I was heartbroken that I couldn’t even speak consolingly to her. At least she was staying alive.
“I am a child of this wicked age and have few of the witching powers of my older siblings. Still, I attempted to focus in on the energy of the universe around me. It was so difficult, what with my growing fatigue and my ever-aching ankle. I drifted in and out of sleep continually. It was during one of my waking times, when I was adjusting the retro-thrust that I realized I wasn’t alone in that wilderness.”
Darla smiled. “As I slowly manipulated the thrusters, ever so slightly changing our course, I began to notice a quiet tune playing in the back of my head. The more I altered course, the louder the tune played. I discovered that if I stayed on that course, the music would play hauntingly loud and clear, it diminishing when I veered from it. It was the same music that has always been with me, my companion when the world around me is going to Hell, when all hope is lost, when nothing is going right. That little tune will start playing, guiding me down a safe path, if I should make sure to listen to it. I did this day.
“I was so tired. Every bone in my body ached from the stress of the day and my lungs burned from breathing so much poisoned air. I finally fell into a silent stupor, having no idea how long I slept. I awoke to sudden quiet. No music. I began to panic until looking out the canopy. There, much to my surprise and relief, I saw a beautiful, blue-green planet.”
She looked at Euroaquilo, puzzling still over where they had ended up. “I lost track of time, I know, but after I was rescued they told me the name and location of that star system. There is no way that broken T-4 managed that distance in only ten hours. Even with full thrusters and hard running, it was a good day’s journey from where our troopship was attacked.
“Anyway, trusting to the fact that the music had delivered us here, I prepared to attempt a landing on the planet. I worked my way forward to Asteios, opening her helmet long enough to communicate my intentions. She was groggy, offering little more than a nod and a weak smile.
“I had to close her helmet because of the toxic air, but when I strapped her into the seat, oh, the pain she must have endured, me twisting her broken back the way I did. I cried out to Mother, tears streaming down my face to let me, please, take Asteios’ pain and carry it for her. I believed Asteios was dying, her injuries more severe than I’d realized. I wanted so badly for my companion to pass away in peace, dreaming of happier times and more pleasant places.”
With tormented eyes, Darla lamented, “There are times when I have wished that Death take me. This was one of those times. You know, the Devil takes his own. But I guess nobody finds me desirable...” She broke into a little rhyme.
“Heaven and Hell both reject this waif.
So she wanders the world on a midnight broom,
Seeking solace with the wolves and snakes.
Ever, ever onward goes the wayward child,
Chasing Death as it flees her wiles.
Oh, my dear love, why do you run from me,
When in your sweet arms is where I should be?
So sings the sailor lost on desperate seas,
With all hope gone but the breath she breathes.”
A sad smile crept across her face. “That Jebbson fellow gifted me with that tale.
Said he made it up one night when the schooner he was on was taking water and
everyone thought they’d all drown. Jebbson said an old Indian medicine man told him that ‘if you seek Death, it will flee from you’. So he made up that little poem and shouted it out to the storm. Well, he and the ship survived the tempest. After that, he would sing that little ditty when Death walked with him, for he said that Death is like a flirtatious lover who ever seeks to catch but never be caught.
“I changed the words a little, but… well… I don’t know why I thought of it just now.
That Jebbson is a strange fellow. He can get into your head – deep, I mean - like he knows who you are and what you’re about without you ever saying a word to him. I like him a lot.”
Euroaquilo agreed. “He’s a good man. He’s a lot like you. Likes a good fight and wants to see it through to the end. He’s a scrapper, can stir the pot with the Council.
Doesn’t make a lot of friends there, doesn’t care to. If I was Death, I’d be afraid of him, too.”
Darla smiled, nodding. She then shook her head as if to clear it of these and other distractions, planting her hands on her knees, leaning forward a bit. “Let me get on with it. As you know, and I learned that day, the T-4 is a stout ship, designed back in the days when the welfare of the pilot was more important than the ship’s. Its wings are massive enough to permit a dead stick landing if need be, and for us it was ‘need be’. With retrorocket propulsion, we would be able to enter the planet’s atmosphere without overheating. Then, with the fighter’s generous wingspan, I should have time to search out a reasonable landing place.
“There were many worries that crossed my mind in the fateful moments before making the final maneuvers into descent. I had one shot at this. There could be no turning back, so I wondered: ‘Would I find ‘friendlies’? Was there truly breathable air down there? Not knowing the damage to the ship, would it hold together after entering the planet’s heavy atmosphere?’
“Some gauges still worked, like altimeter and air speed, but few others. I had already chosen the landing location in the northern latitude, but close enough to the equator to offer some seasonal warmth. Visuals looked good, low mountains with broad valleys that, hopefully, offered several safe landing spots. I waited for my descent window and then committed us to whatever the Fates offered us down below.
“The retrorockets held long enough to get us through the most dangerous part of the entry. Much to my joy, the batteries maintained a strong charge all the way down, allowing me reasonable flight control over the air wing. My calculations were quite adequate, bringing us down on deck at a perfect altitude and slow enough descent to study the general terrain. I saw no signs of civilization, no cities, communication towers, power dams, nothing… at least yet... Narrowing my search to just north of a line of rocky outcroppings, I swept down in a wide, arching circle and lined up at what looked to be a broad valley ideal for my purpose. Well, I guess that others also found that valley to be the ideal for similar reasons.
“I’d dropped in real low, hiding myself from possible hostile eyes. But that trick had also blinded me to my landing spot because of several high hills to my immediate north.
Passing just south and west of a tall, rocky bluff, I lined up on my landing zone, nosed down a little and set up a gliding trajectory for the location I’d decided on to land. About six miles out, I noticed some strange shapes hidden among the scattered, giant conifers up
ahead. At just over two miles, I recognized those shapes to be camouflaged fighters and buildings. I’d chosen to drop in on an enemy encampment!
“I know I screamed in panic and frustration. I don’t remember it, but I know I did, because I felt my heart rip right out of my chest, I was so terrified. ‘Get away! Get away! Get away!’ I remember me shouting those words to myself over and over. I almost tore that old joystick right out of its socket to turn away. Yanking the nose up and rolling that T-4 over, I gained enough altitude to clear those same bluffs and make my escape south.
“We had been drifting straight in toward the enemy’s camp, apparently on their same flight path. They took no notice until I banked hard and retreated the scene. It would only be a matter of time before they’d scramble their fighters and come after us. Still, I guess they’d believe we were skedaddling, not thinking we were coming in for a crash landing. And we were going to crash, for sure.
“The question was, ‘how far could we get away before it happened?’ As I hurried south, I hit my retros again, hoping there might be something left in them. There was -
about a four second burst, enough to get us another eight or ten miles away. The terrain was also dropping, maybe several hundred feet, but it looked real ugly. We’d tear ourselves apart if some better landing sight didn’t appear soon. By now, I was flying the valley, hills above us on either side. Seeing nothing but death approaching, I chose to follow a narrow canyon that ran east between two tall buttes, and prepared myself for a rough landing.
“After turning hard to port and descending into the canyon, I noticed that up ahead was a tiny patch of gray and green several hundred feet long, filled with pebbles and sticks. I dropped the flaps and lifted the nose to stall out. I don’t remember the rest of the ride. I just remember holding back on that stick with all my might, and then everything going black.
“Things got a little fuzzy after that. I woke to the stink of smoke, not much, but a real bad, noxious stink. It was then I realized my helmet was missing. How or when it came off, I’ve no idea. My fear of dying from the poisonous air was quickly assuaged.
The cockpit was smashed all to hell, with the canopy twisted beyond recognition, its glass shattered to the winds. There wasn’t enough left of that old T-4 to know it had ever been an interstellar fighter.
“The clearing I landed in was really a volcanic wash filled with boulders and broken trees. The ship piled into that field at over a hundred miles an hour, ripping itself to pieces as it skidded through that jumbled mess. Little was left other than the cockpit, upper hull, and part of the tail section. At least the fighter had cut a straight path along the skidway, not flipping, it finally slamming to a stop against some ancient, giant tree trunk.
“It was eerily quiet, other than a little hissing of a steam vent and the popping sounds from tiny electrical fires. I figure my fuel dump before we started our descent saved us from a fiery inferno that would have surely enveloped us had the tanks not been emptied.
As it was, there was little to burn. The fires died quickly.”
Darla blinked several times, shaking her head as her heart returned to those fitful hours. “I was waked by a burning sensation in my leg. Also, the fingers on my left hand were crushed and broken, and blood ran down my face, half blinding me. I was a mess!
Blinking away the blood, I saw that Asteios’ navigator’s seat was torn loose, pinning her
between it and the control panel. I bolted forward to help her, instantly falling back in screaming agony.
“When I regained my senses, I checked to see what the matter was with my leg.
Shocked I was to find a barb of metal sticking three inches out from where my kneecap should have been. It was then that I realized how close to death I’d come. My pilot’s seat was skewed and twisted, but it had held…how I don’t know, what with the wreckage piled into it. Our sudden stop into that tree must have broken all kinds of things loose behind me, driving the rear of the ship into the cockpit. One jagged, spear-like piece of metal slammed into the lower panel of my seat and through the back of my leg, shattering my kneecap.” Feeling with my hand, for I could not see the damage done to me, I discovered that my leg was skewered, the spike of the shaft sticking some three inches out the front of my knee.
“‘Oh, this is a sweet one you’ve done, fool!’ I said to myself. What was I to do now?
My sister was possibly already dead, and I? I was near to being little more than a trophy for the day’s hunt, my head the guest of honor at the night’s festivities, it garishly staring down from the pike at the end of the feasting table. This was not good. I must do something quickly. I must get away, but how, what with my leg already being skewered upon that spike?
“As our friend Jebbson has been heard to say, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures.’ Well, I was desperate. The only way I was going to escape torture and certain death was to get unstuck. The first attempt racked my body with such nauseating pain that I wretched into passing out. When I came to, I was sweating profusely and breathing hard. I began to panic, feeling there was no escape.
“I fought down the panic, reasoning that any pain I might inflict upon myself would be far less than what the enemy would do when they found me. Pain was my friend for the moment. Pain offered me freedom. All I had to do was reach out and embrace it, seek it like one does the arms of a lover. I gripped the front of my seat and, with all my strength, lunged forward.
“Well…” Darla smiled, grimacing with the memory, “it was no lover’s embrace.”
She admitted, “Having my belly ripped open at the Battle of Argototh was nowhere as cripplingly agonizing an experience. Pain was no lover, but it did save me that day, freeing me from a certain, even more painful death.
“While the world spun around me, turning ever gray, I stumbled forward, falling over the wreckage to get to my sister. I’m sure she was already dead, but I refused to accept it. ‘I’ll get us out!’ I screamed. ‘Hang on! Hang on! We’ll get out of this!’ I then began slamming my shoulder into the cockpit side door to smash it open.
“I have no memory of the following moments or hours. When I awoke, I found I was free of the fighter, a pilot’s pistol and my life support system beside me. There, only feet away, Asteios lay, looking like she was resting, so peacefully resting.”
She shook her head. “How I…we got out of the fighter and down to the ground, I cannot imagine, and with all the emergency supplies scattered about, too. There was food and water to last for a while, and whatever tools and equipment I might be able to haul away with me…us. Yes, I refused to leave my sister behind to have her temple desecrated by those animals. I cared not the cost to me. It was all or nothing. And that was that.
“I believed it to be late in the day and possibly the season to be high summer. The air was dry and dirty with dust, enough so that the sun was setting in an orange haze.
That explained why we were not yet discovered, and their possible notion that we had not crashed, but hightailed it away. I was sure when they found no trace of our ship on their radar screens they would conclude we were hiding out somewhere, but maybe not so close as we were. Still, it was only going to be a matter of time before search parties would come calling.
“Rummaging through the emergency gear revealed a treasure trove of valuables.
The medical kit contained everything from gauze, bandages and painkillers to surgical equipment. I soon discovered that the T-4 was captained by a ‘Major somebody or other’… the name I don’t recall. It was in transport to Commodore CythereaNoah’ha’s flagship, Cyrene, to be delivered to the major.
“I tell you this because of how well stocked I found the fighter to be. The major must have personally stowed those treasures aboard before departing with the fleet.
Well, whoever the person was, I’m grateful to ‘em. Those supplies saved my life.” She paused, quiet in thought while Euroaquilo patiently waited.
(Author’s note: I recently received a letter from NikaoEimi, who served as a liaison officer aboard Cyrene during the Day of Tears battle. He was pleased to inform me, after reading a transcript of this section of the book, that he believed he was the major mentioned by Darla in her account. I quote a few of his words to me regarding the aforementioned T-4.
“My fighter I had named ‘ChrimsonKnight’, was a relic assigned to me during the Three Hundred Years’ War, obtaining it for my personal use after the war ended. For most of the Great War, I served aboard various navy ships as a staff officer, coordinating activities between the sub fleets, Special Forces, and the main carrier fleet. I left the T-4
at my home base on Stargaton, feeling no need for it aboard the new carrier, Cyrene…
that is until I was told about Operation Willow. I immediately requested base to have ChrimsonKnight transported to me as soon as may be. The manifest I received after the demise of the T-4 says that it was being shipped aboard the troop transport, Shallie.”
“You may possibly find more information on that ship in the Archives De Loriet, at Tilgath, on Pilneser, the Navy’s Archival Museum for the Great War.”
“From Adaya’s (Darla’s) description of events, I believe Shallie was the troopship she sailed on and the fighter she took rescue in was my old T-4, ChrimsonKnight. If it is, I am proud to think that my old battle lady helped to rewrite our history by saving such a renowned hero and leader.” )
Darla sighed, returning to her account. “I hurried as best I could in preparing to get away, not understanding why I’d not heard or seen any search craft. Then there came the sound of the muffled roar of distant wind, along with hot, stifling air and a hazy, dust-filled sky. There was a storm coming… a massive sand storm. Now I grasped why no one was searching for me. It didn’t make me feel better. I had to git, which meant braving hurricane force winds, driving sands and suffocating dust. No holing up for me.
“It took me a little while before I was ready to leave. I modified my breathing apparatus to filter the air. My helmet was intact and I borrowed Asteios’ left glove, seeing mine was destroyed. She was so kind, offering no complaint. Well, let’s see…
oh, yes, I took what few supplies I could carry, tethered my sister up to my harness, and began the painful crawl south, down the canyon.
“The storm was the worst I’ve ever been in. I couldn’t see three feet at any time.
My directional finder kept me on a southern track, but my biggest fear was to crawl off a cliff into an abyss. That’s how bad the storm was.
“By morning of the third day, it was easing enough to prevent my traveling in the daylight. I figured we were about two miles from the crash site. The canyon was now spread out into a rock-strewn valley about a quarter mile wide. There were several overhangs, outcroppings, and a cave or two, making it easy to find some hidden shelter. I holed up in a little tunnel cave made by a pile of jumbled rocks and waited for night to come.
“This was the first real rest I’d had since leaving the wreck. I heated some rations with a chemical heater, and risked the removal of my helmet and breathing the filthy air to enjoy eating, unencumbered, those delicious, cooked morsels. That was probably the longest day of my life, my not having a clue as to where I was or how to contact anyone, wondering where I was trying to escape to, and believing it was all useless, because I was going to die anyway. It was only a matter of time.
“Later in the day, after the heated, red glow of a tortured sun made its arrival, I heard sounds of machines coming in our direction. They had discovered the wreck and were out in force, looking for its crew. For the remainder of the day, wheeled and tracked machines roared up and down the valley, and search craft flew overhead. Fortunately for me, they did not realize the extent of my injuries. I’m sure they expanded their range much further a-field, thinking the escapees were making time, hoofing it hard south.
Whatever the case, I saw no more search parties after that day.
“Later that night, I pulled out and made my way further down the valley. The hot winds picked up again, making things difficult, but it did cover our tracks from any pursuers. Tracks? I mean snaky, crawling marks. I couldn’t walk, but was on my elbows and pushing with one knee, those painkillers numbing me up good.
“I don’t know how far I made it that night and remember little of the ordeal. I do recall sheltering in some rocks through most of the next day. By now, my water was almost gone. I stopped eating in an attempt to retain as much fluid as possible. Worse, I took the last of the painkillers that morning. By afternoon, I was in such numbing agony that I doubt I cared if I lived or not.
“I took up the escape again that night. By next morning, I’d cast away my helmet, gloves, all my gear, only saving my pilot’s pistol to blow my brains out with if I got caught. Of course, I still dragged my companion with me. I refused to leave her behind.
Not now, not after all this! We would die together if need be, but I would not leave her behind. That day, I didn’t even bother to hide. I didn’t even care anymore. Why, the pain was so great, I reached more than once for that pistol to end it right there. But for some reason, each time I’d put it away, thinking better of it.
“That’s really the last I remember of things other…other than one night. One night, the winds were howling, blowing choking sand in every direction. I was so thirsty, so thirsty. And then I heard it…my tune. It was clear and pleasant, so sweet, beautiful, but it wasn’t in my head. Somewhere out in front of me, someone was playing my tune. It sounded like a flute. The hypnotizing spell that it cast over me urged me on, ever on until, suddenly, I found myself splashing in a wonderful pool of clear, cool water.
“I drank and drank until I felt my innards would burst, and then I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed” Darla leaned forward, staring intently into Euroaquilo’s eyes, “the most beautiful dream I’d ever dreamed! I remember floating in a silent world of glowing spheres where all my long-lost companions called out to me in loving chorus. Why, even Asteios sang sweet songs to me. I felt hands touch my face, voices telling me how beautiful I was, how much they loved me. My heart ached with the joy of being in this wonderful world. I wanted so much to stay.
“And then I heard the music again, it playing loud and clear, but this time I discovered words in the hypnotic refrains. ‘Come now, little one, we must leave. For you, this journey does not end here. No, not for you, not for you.’ Then I heard Asteios’
laughter, such joyful laughter. When it faded away, the music began again, singing, ‘For her, child, for her, not you, child, for her.’ I recall nothing more until waking to blinding lights boring into my tormented eyes.
“I cried out in panic, fearing the worst. A hand touched my arm and a gentle voice called out my name. Squinting, I saw Zadar standing beside my bed. I do not recall my reaction, but my heart was so relieved to see him. When I calmed enough to listen, Zadar explained that I was aboard a medical packet accompanying a large convoy of troop transports on their return to MueoPoros. When he received news that I was the pilot rescued from that planet, he requested permission from his commanding officer, Major Chasileah, to pay a visit upon me.
“Zadar remained by my side for several days, and made continual visits even after we made port at MueoPoros, finally departing when his regiment was deployed to what’s become known as the ‘Spider’s Lair’. I heard tell later that he was wounded badly during our attack on Memphis, I not receiving the news until several months after the war ended.
“Getting back to my account, during one of his visits, he brought me up to speed with my rescue. I was told that a pilot on a scouting mission got confused when his instruments went berserk and, fearing it was the enemy jamming his navigation systems, dove to ground level to escape it. As he came down on deck, the sunlight reflecting off something below caught his eye. On his return pass, he came in low and slow. It’s said that I shook my fist at him, apparently thinking he was the enemy. A little while later, I was aboard a rescue ship being transported toward the medical packet.”
Darla laughed. “They said I put up such a fuss when the rescue team tried to leave Asteios behind that they threatened to leave me behind, too. Anyway, I persevered.”
Sighing sadly, she added, “They eventually brought her body back to EdenEsonbar. I visit her grave there from time to time just to renew old memories.”
Then slapping her hands on her knees as she tipped her head up, Darla sighed relief at nearing the end of her confession. “The surgeons fixed me up right quick, most of my injuries being minor. My knee was not broken and, with the use of those healing machines, I was up and about in no time. Eventually, I was returned to my old company now stationed near Memphis, pestering the doctors into madness to release me. My captain refused me active duty in the trenches, though, feeling I needed more time to recuperate from my injuries. I did finally manage to get permission to do courier duty for the regiment, along with several other convalescing members of my company.
“It was that tiny group I managed to gather in front of Memphis, along with a small contingent of other brave souls, that held the Gap (officially called the ‘Battle of the Tower Gate ’) until reinforcements arrived. It was in that skirmish that Tifara died, blown
to pieces, protecting me from a missile attack. I was broken up real bad that time, spending four months in intensive care, and another year in rehabilitation, long after the armistice. By the time I recovered sufficiently to address the Department of Records, requesting Citations of Valor for my fallen comrades, I guess everyone was tired of the war and didn’t want to think about it anymore.”
Darla became silent, staring at her folded hands. At length, quietly standing, she slowly made her way back to the elevator rail. The woman peered down into the abyss of the elevator shaft, again taking on the stature that reminded Euroaquilo of a weathered old tree, tired and defeated.
Eventually Euroaquilo, too, rose from his chair and joined Darla at the rail. He reached out and lovingly took her by the arm, pondering these secrets revealed. Who was this woman, DusmeAstron, child of the evening hour? Many were the tales of great valor that had tingled his ears, but never such as they had now received. These were profound, not only worthy of the Book of Records, but worthy of the Book of Books! Fear-inspiring they were!
Darla turned her head and gazed up into Euroaquilo’s eyes. She had aged this hour, Euroaquilo being so reminded of Gabrielle. How close was Darla to being consumed by the same crippling cancer that was slowly destroying many of the great warrior witches of this Empire? Or was Darla merely tired, tired of the passing whispers, the pitying nods, the disregard for her valor and battle cunning, the distrust of her mental constitution, her own self doubts as to whether all these things said about her were true?
Euroaquilo smiled. If she was sick, there was little he could do. But if she pined over doubt, well, he had the power to revive her spirit and self worth. He reached up, lovingly stroking her face. “My child, my dear, wonderful child, if the gods of ancient days do exist, then they most certainly cast their gaze upon you, marveling with awe at this mortal goddess that walks among men. You have not chanced to be alive this day to relate to me your tale. No! For a certainty, I perceive that the powers beyond this universe have preserved you down to this time. How great you must stand in their eyes and our Mother’s, for legend speaks to the motives of those gods that they seek always the healing of Mother’s heart. You must be very precious in her eyes.”
Darla blushed, laughing, “My Love, you make my heart sing. When I’m with you, I feel like a princess divine, like I was meant to be born, not some accident created by a random, passionate moment.”
Euroaquilo stepped back, stunned, but dared not ask why she thought of herself that way. The dark secret Darla had never revealed to anyone was the angry remarks of an Ancient who long ago accused her of being such an abomination, unplanned and unwanted, an abortion of flesh that Mother had refused to reject. Darla was but six and two years old, and the Ancient was a standing member of the Council, that is, until he fell into the darkness of Asotos’ world. But Darla remembered it well, and wondered still if the old sage’s words rang with some truth.
“My darling, lovely one,” Euroaquilo took Darla’s hands in his, “you are the most wonderful of creations! Few are the women born of my age who have beauty to compare to yours, and that is of the flesh. Your heart? Why, I feel there is none greater than you who has such devotion to our Mother and, yes, to all of her children, too. I know she loves you with such heartfelt passion that she would bring down all the Heavens to save but you in her bosom.”
Darla just shook her head, blushing all the more. “Please, please, my Lord. This jacket is already too confining. Should you boost my ego any more, my chest will puff out to the point of bursting Mihai’s kingly finery.”
Euroaquilo gazed down upon her beauty. “And what a pity to have thrust upon me your full naked comeliness should such a terrible catastrophe happen... But I shall do as you request except, except for this one other matter I must address.”
Darla puzzled, curious, “Yes?”
“Well, you see…” Euroaquilo stepped back, releasing Darla’s hands, and began to quietly pace, his hands clasped behind him, “er…well…just let me come to the point. In my haste to gather the needed machines and materials for this journey, and all the important dignitaries traveling along, what with all their special needs and all to consider, well, I failed to assign a bridge officer to assist me and to take over command of the fleet should something untimely befall me.”
He stopped and turned, waxing apologetic. “Well, when I got wind of your searching for me, it dawned on me that here was the answer to my dilemma which I had so foolishly placed myself in. Realizing that you are an experienced naval officer of some rank, and highly qualified and schooled in its procedures and protocols, I would like to ask your assistance with getting me out of this little bind I’m in. I’d like you to support me on this expedition as my deck officer, adjutant to the admiral.”
“What?!” Darla began to laugh as though Euroaquilo was joking with her, “Listen, I’m a leftenant second class, you know, just above latrine duty officer, a termite or wiggle
worm being my superior. Please, Love, give me a break. My heart is not in the mood for such jesting right now, though I appreciate your attempt to lift my spirits.”
Euroaquilo did not respond in kind, his face remaining serious and sober as he shook his head. “I am admiral of this fleet! I do not take lightly my responsibilities for its crew and passengers’ safety! I do not joke about such matters. Now, I can order you to take up this post, but I do not usually act as tyrant over those in my charge. I want you to accept of your own free will. Please?”
Darla’s face filled with disbelief and consternation. She leaned forward, hands opened with palms up, gesturing as she answered, “Look at me! Take a good look!
What do you see? I am no officer, fit to command a fleet! Why, I can’t even keep my tears from ruining the only uniform I have. I have been delivered here because Mother asked me to be her horse maiden…a horse maiden! Even she sees me not as a soldier, but someone only fit to tend a beast. My Euroaquilo...” Darla sighed, dismayed, “how could I even think to command a bridge dressed like a Consort Divine and not a soldier?
Who will respect my authority when I walk this bridge? What officer will listen to my orders?”
“Hmmm, let’s see…” Euroaquilo stepped back further, playing with his beard,
“Hmmm…the bottom half of you looks like an officer, a pretty glitzy one, I admit. Oh yes, and that jacket, I hear, belongs to none other than our new king, Mihai, and I’m told that she personally ordered you to wear it today. I’m also sure that your little discussion with Ardon has made the rounds. You put him in his place right good, or so I understand that’s the way the gossip goes. Made some of our officers pretty happy, hearing he got his comeuppance. I dare say, I believe there will be few officers bold enough to even risk questioning your appointment as my adjutant, let alone refuse to obey your orders.” He
winked, “And, I believe there might be quite a few officers like me who’d rather see you out of uniform completely, if you know what I mean.”
Darla harrumphed, blushing anew. “You’re always like that with me...” She smiled shyly. For some reason she felt shy around this man. “I like you wanting me. It makes me feel special.”
“You are special!” Euroaquilo nearly shouted. “Why do you think I asked you to stand the bridge in my stead? Now, I ask you again, and answer me directly this time.
Will you support me in this request or do I have to give you a direct order?”
Darla lowered her head, grinning as she quietly whispered, “Yes…yes, I do.”
Beaming, Euroaquilo reached out with his burly arms. “Great!” Darla squealed in delight, diving forward and circling her arms around him. The two became wrapped in love’s embrace, she pillowing her head on his chest, the man resting his chin on the top of her head.
The golden glow coming from the opened door of the elevator cast itself upon the two still locked in silent embrace. A tall, slender man quietly exited its doorway, quickly followed by several equally quiet officers and crew. As the others hurried to their different posts, the tall man approached Euroaquilo and Darla. He stopped at a respectable distance and patiently waited to be recognized.
At length the two released each other, Darla giving Euroaquilo a tender kiss on his lips as they parted. Euroaquilo turned to the man, extending his hand. “Captain Asarel, I am grateful for you kindly indulging me on this whim. I am forever in your debt.”
Captain Asarel grinned, “No, Sir, the pleasure has been all mine! I should not have intruded upon you two, but I have received communique from Mother suggesting we may want to prepare for departure. It will take a little time to get the boilers up and ready the ship. I waited as long as possible. Sorry I had to interrupt. Yet,” the captain raised a hand, shaking a finger high, “I will remember your offer of debt! It is a very important matter to remember favors. Never can tell when an admiral can come in handy.”
Euroaquilo burst out laughing, slapping the captain on the shoulder. “You haven’t changed since our days together, flying those Coriveon fighters. In fact, if I recall correctly, you may still owe me a favor from that time. Remember Leah and all the kissing up to the brass I had to go through to get her as your bunk mate?”
“Well” Captain Asarel grinned, “then let’s call this one even.” The two men squeezed hands tight in greeting, giving each other a one-armed hug.
Euroaquilo spoke up, “Captain, I’d like to introduce you to my adjutant, DarlaUmehahAstrni. She will be standing in as bridge officer in my absence.”
Captain Asarel clicked his heels together, bowing politely and taking Darla’s hand.
“It is my pleasure. No, we have not met, but I feel I already know you well. The winds have spoken your name many times this day. Please, Commander, permit me to officially welcome you aboard my humble ship. Treat it as if it is your home while you’re aboard. Please, whatever we have here is at your disposal.”
Darla was shocked, her jaw dropping in surprise. Commander?! That was a much higher rank than a wiggle worm. This was almost too much for Darla. She fought back tears while replying, “Th…than…thank you, Captain Asarel. Thank you very much.”
She squeezed his hand, smiling, respectfully bowing in return.
Ignoring Darla’s unsettled countenance, Captain Asarel politely bowed again and then, after releasing her hand, turned to Euroaquilo. “One need not do a lot of kissing up
aboard this ship to gain favors. May I suggest we put Commander Darla up in the sergeant’s stateroom, right next to your quarters? We have no Marine officers of rank on this journey, so the room is currently empty. It is well furnished and should live up to the needs of your adjutant quite well. Also, I would like to request you both to accompany me in my cabin for dinner this eve.”
Euroaquilo chanced a glance at Darla. It was obvious the day had been very stressful on her constitution. He nodded a bow of thanks. “You are most generous in your offer.
Moving my officer to her new quarters will be a minor undertaking, and seeing we must also press the time with private consultation, may I suggest such an offer on the
‘morrow? I also believe my officer needs nutrition soon, for she ‘as not ‘et this day and must be famished to fainting. I request your leave, to allow you to man the bridge for departure, while we seek out some refreshment to satisfy a craving stomach.”
“As you wish, my Lord,” Asarel responded. “Tomorrow night will be your night.”
He smiled, looking at Darla. “I will send my cook around with the menu. You choose for the rest of us. Decide for us the mouth-watering delicacies we shall all feast upon.”
Darla stuttered her gratitude.
Euroaquilo also thanked the captain, adding, “Please, with your permission, notify us of the hour of departure. I do wish to share the bridge with you as we leave.”
Captain Asarel promised as he motioned to those quietly waiting. Soon all was a’
bustle with hurried officers and crew. Lights blazed across the darkened bridges while monitor screens flashed to life. Servos hummed and motors whirred. Soon the entire upper deck was awash in activity.
Amid this hubbub, the captain and his guests strolled toward the elevator.
Euroaquilo broke the silence, addressing the captain. “Thank you for permission to return the name of this ship back to when I captained it. It means a lot to me, you know.
It was very kind of you.”
“No, my dear Admiral, the pleasure is all mine.” Asarel grinned. “To have you walk beside me again like in the old days? No, you honor me to think you still care enough about this old hulk to put your special name back on it.” He looked up, thinking aloud, “DusmeAstron? DusmeAstron? Western Star? There’s a song in that name, mysterious. It’s so beautiful, so beautiful. You know, you never did say where you picked up that name from.”
Darla stared up into Euroaquilo’s face, his arm around her waist, wondering his reply.
Euroaquilo glanced toward Darla and then looked at Asarel, nodding, “I guess I never did say, did I? Yes, I agree. It is a most beautiful name.” Squeezing Darla close, Euroaquilo kissed her on the forehead. The captain smiled, knowing some questions must wait to be answered.
Arriving at the elevator, its golden lights entreating entry, Euroaquilo and Darla obeyed its siren’s call and stepped inside. Asarel shook Euroaquilo’s hand once more.
“You will be promptly informed of our departure. I am looking forward to our standing the bridge again, together.”
Euroaquilo thanked him as the door slowly closed. Servos whirred to life and the elevator began its descent to the lower decks. The captain turned to his crew, watching their smooth efficiency with satisfaction. He smiled again, saying to himself, “A well-oiled machine.”
Outside, steady rains washed over the newly painted name of the cruiser, DusmeAstron. It would faithfully deliver it passengers to EremiaPikros, and to a certain person below who was seeking a pleasant repast, an unexpected destiny. For good or ill, it dared not say.
* * *
“Can a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of a planet eventually lead to a typhoon on the other?” Questions such as these are often thrown out by armchair philosophers when they cannot think of logical responses to reasonable questions. Still, is it not true that very small, miniscule causes often, in time, produce astronomical effects?
No better example of this can be found than the union of two very tiny cells that join to create a new life. From one fertilized egg no bigger than the head of a pin have come all the great orators, poets and leaders known to our universes. In their turn, the worlds of men have been changed for better or worse.
On a warm, summer evening, while balmy breezes drifted in from the sea and the gentle glow of a waxing moon filtered down through tamarisk trees, a young maiden offered her love to her strong, handsome beau. Their passionate embrace was not unlike those shared by countless other lovers throughout the lives of men, and with similar outcome.
Above the clouds and beyond the sky, watchful eyes waited to see if their many centuries of effort and labor were soon to be rewarded. For thousands of years, they had played in the genome pool of this race to create the perfect warrior priestess, one who would share a throne to rule a universe.
For generations, fingers had busied themselves weaving the web of life in the bellies of countless mothers by gathering the desired threads from countless fathers until satisfied with the finished blend. Faces smiled with pleasure at the results accomplished.
But other faces took no delight in the little child.
Given a name belonging to the gods by her father and mentored in the new religion of her uncle, the Forces of Darkness swore revenge for such disrespect. They skulked in the other world, waiting the day when their enemies wearied of protecting the girl. At last, such a time arrived.
I start this account back in that day and hour when, for but a moment, the demon forces thought the battle was theirs. In an age of empires and gods, of gladiators and prophets, the flap of tiny wings against the tempest of madmen began a storm that would one day bring down Satan’s entire house, beginning with Legion, his chief lieutenant.
No one person can start a firestorm of the proportions witnessed at the end of the last age. Yet, the collective spirit of persons like this child proved to become an unstoppable
force, eventually crushing a superior enemy before he could cover the universe in eternal gloom and destruction. The history of Heaven’s War does not then belong to one hero.
As you will see, all who fought in it are heroes.
It was the beating of countless wings, through death and sacrifice that has delivered us to this Fourth Age, the age of rebirth.
* * *
“Isn’t she a pretty one! I’d like to fancy whoring w’th the likes o’ her for a n’ght!”
“You best leave that lovely alone, Perk!” protested the grimy, balding man known as
‘Tanner’. He was standing next to Perk, also peering into the cell. “She’s saved for the party tomorrow and if you ‘ert her, me and you will be dog food ‘fore the next nightfall.”
Perk glowered at Tanner. “Stop your whining, ya’ ol’ bastard, or I’l rip yor own guts aut an’ feed ‘em ta the dogs, meself! No one’s goin’ ta hurt the pretty, but if opportunity should just happen to come ta ‘ave some fun…well, we’s just’l ‘ave ta watch an’ sees, won’t we?”
Tanner backed away from Perk and shut his mouth. He had worked with him in the prison for many years and didn’t doubt a word said by him. He was afraid of Treston, captain over the governor’s personal guard, including the prison, but this man terrified him. Perk was not only a senior prison custodian, he loved his job, taking pleasure in his work and the pain he could inflict on others, calling it his ‘bonus pay.’ As he eyed the child huddled in the corner of the stinking cell, his nostrils flared as greasy drool dribbled off his jowls.
Perk put his arm around Tanner’s shoulder, drawing the older man up close to him so that their noses almost touched. With a semi-toothless grin, he hissed in a hushed whisper, “I don’t knows about you, but I ain’t never seen nothin’ like what’s in there in here ‘afore. In my whole life’s dreams, there hain’t niver come to me somthin’ as sweet as that thing in there. If Hell come tomorrer for me, it ‘uld be worth it. I’m achin’
already for it, an’ that pretty can make the achin’ go away.”
Then lowering his voice even more, his eyes glowing with lust, Perk offered, “Now Tanner, my bosom fr’nd, we has worked heres a lon’ time. I has always shared with you.
I’l save you some. Why I’l even guard the doors while you fun w’th her.” He paused in thought, his eyes staring at the ceiling. “I can make it wurth yor while…wurth our while.
Now goes about yor w’rk, and keep that flapper a’ yors buttoned up.”
Tanner’s eyes belied his fear. Perk knew he would keep quiet. Tanner turned away from Perk and went about feeding the prisoners. Perk opened the cell door and entered.
On the floor, a dirty dish sat in maggot-infested filth. He threw down some moldy bread, then, with a cup, reached into a greasy pot, took out some lukewarm slop and poured it into the dish. He cast a leering eye at the girl in the corner and broke into a hideous grin, hissing, “Eat up, darlin’, best the feast is what yu g’t fer yer last sup. An’ try ta rest som, fer a l’ng night’s comin’.”
He turned, exiting the chamber, slamming the door shut. Stopping, Perk swung around, pushing his nearly toothless, grinning face up to the bars, blowing a little kiss, cooing, “Sweet dr’ms, pretty...” and then walked away down the hall, his whistling growing fainter until all fell silent.
Her hands were not shaking as badly now, her breathing more relaxed and less shallow. The girl’s prayers had a calming effect. In the least, they took her mind off the burning agony gripping her belly, but tonight they seemed to be soothing to flesh and soul as well. The terror of earlier hours when Perk had returned was decreasing and she was starting to feel the dull pain of repeated beatings. Drying blood mixed with human filth left over from previous inhabitants covered her naked body and caked her hair. The airless chamber had already been chokingly thick with that rank smell, but now the stench of sweat and sexual exhaustion emulsified with the other stink to produce a stomach-wrenching odor. She heaved up more bile until there was nothing else left.
Perk had waited until the officer of the guard, Treston, had retired for the night.
Then he had quietly slipped out the side door of the prison chamber. At Perk’s departure, Tanner lit a small lamp and paced back and forth in front of the cell door until he returned. When he came back, four other men accompanied him, all of them filthy and unkempt – men who worked or slaved down in some other part of this hole of a prison.
Perk threw open the door of the girl’s cell and stepped in, holding the lantern high to look over his prize catch for the night. “My, my, whut a dainty we ‘av ‘ere. The gods
‘av luk’d on us t’nite.” He then cooed, “I ‘ear yu got a nam, an’ quite a fan-see on’, too.”
Turning his head back over his shoulder, he grinned, “Ish-tar…can yu baleeve it? We g’t us a goddess right ‘ere in ar li’le ‘ome. Ya ev’r see a goddess ‘afore?”
As he clumsily reached for her clothes, the child threw up her hands to stop him.
Perk lunged forward, driving his fist into the side of her head, sending her spinning into the far wall. Before she could fall, Perk’s giant hands were around her throat, squeezing the life out of the girl.
Tanner wailed. “Stop it, Perk, or yu’l get us all kild!”
“Shut your friggin mouth you!” Perk growled.
Tanner’s cries did have their effect, though. Perk caught his breath and calmed down. Easing his iron grip, he pulled the girl close, opening his mouth in a sinister grin, cautioning, “Well goddess, yu win fer now. I dn’t want ta spoil th’ goods. Now be nice, or next time, I’l rip that sluttin’ ‘ed of yur’s right off.”
“Let’s ‘av a see at what a goddess looks like…” Perk reached down and ripped Ishtar’s tunic off, the force flinging her across the room. She caught hold of a post in the wall just before falling. Tanner lifted the lamp high to get a better look at the naked girl.
A hushed gasp rose in chorus from the men as they watched, staring, transfixed, looking at the most strikingly beautiful form they had ever seen. Not only did this woman have an astonishingly attractive face, her other features were of equal grandeur. Ishtar’s hair was a brilliant orange-red. In the lantern light, it radiated red, then gold, copper, and back to red. Her perfect figure was enhanced by a silky-smooth, light olive-colored skin, while dancing shadows made the girl’s generous curves and firm breasts appear as those of a goddess come to Earth.
Perk was dumbstruck. “Well I …well ain’t that …sooo.” He bowed his head, pondering his good fortune. Drooling like a hungry beast, he grinned, “I bet you ain’t never had it ‘afore neither, ‘av ya?” Hooting, Perk turned to the others and asked,
“What’s she worth now, gentermen? Clean as the driv’n snow! What will yu pay to be the first driv’r? A goddess, no less...”
What happened after that was a blur. Aside from the explosive pain rending through her head and the burning agony in her belly, she could remember little detail except for
Perk. He was brutal. His animalistic abuse was beyond description. The more she cried out, the more intense the pain he would inflict. When she resisted, he would beat her until she would nearly pass out. After he had finished, she lay on the floor, her eyes rolled back in her battered head, oozing blood from her nose and ears.
Tanner was petrified with fear, believing the child would die from Perk’s abuse.
Perk shouted for him to shut up and went after the child again. After thoroughly exhausting himself, he forced Tanner to perform the final insult to her. When he declined, Perk angrily threatened, “You’d better get it up, or I’ll cut it off!” Taking Tanner by the shirt, he pulled him into the cell, flinging him at the crumpled body on the floor, mocking him, “You’ll kill her! You’ll kill her!”
Tanner timidly obeyed, finishing his deed as quickly as possible. The girl quietly moaned but offered no resistance. When finished, he jumped up, and while still fastening his clothes, scurried away.
Laughing, Perk shouted after him, “If the lit’le bitch dies now, you’ll ‘ang for it, too!”
The other men had long since retreated to their own hiding places. If the girl was going to die, they wanted to be far away from the scene. They were well aware how much value Treston placed on her appearance in front of the emperor’s magistrate the coming day.
Perk lingered a while, staring at the body sprawled in the corner then slowly turned to go, stopping in the doorway for another look. Ishtar’s eyes fluttered open only to meet his filled with malice and rage. He kicked the filth from the floor in her direction, cursing, “And damned be your god, too!” storming off down the passageway, taking the lantern with him. Soon a shroud of the darkness enveloped her.
The girl struggled to her knees and was suddenly caught up in nauseous convulsions.
Driven by uncontrolled heaves, hot liquid forced its way up her throat, spewing from her mouth. As the child gasped for air, a shooting pain racked her body, racing up her back, exploding into countless, stabbing spears at the base of her skull. In a muffled scream, she pitched forward, falling face down into the filth and dirt.
* * *
“There ain’t been anyone out here in hours. It’s cold and damp, and my feet are tired. What’s all this big deal ‘bout us bein’ here, anyhow?” The guard shivered, vigorously rubbing his arms for warmth.
The second guard continued his searching vigil of the deserted street while chastising the first guard. “The cuckoo bird’s got in your head! We got some big prize locked up and the sergeant ain’t wantin’ no problems. If he got loose, all of us would be feedin’
lions tomorrow.”
The first guard nodded. “I don’t doubt what you’re sayin’, being a big prize and all that, but…” He glanced around to see if others were near, then whispered, “All them followers of his aren’t gonna bother here. They’re all them kindly, peaceful people.
They don’t hurt nobody.”
“Watch your mouth!” snapped the second guard, glaring at the first. “Those kinda words could get us both killed! Just shatup and watch for somthin’. That’s our job.” He returned to scanning the darkness.
The first guard sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Why in Hell’s name don’t someone clean that hog pen?!”
The other agreed, staring into the empty animal pens across the street, suddenly jerking his head up. Wide-eyed, he excitedly whispered, pointing, “Somethin's movin’
there!”
The second guard reached for his spear, squinting into the blackness. A cackling echoed off the surrounding buildings, shrill and disjointed but somewhat musical, quickly followed by a sinister, laughing taunt.
“By night it walks to hunger still,
To find sweet meat, its belly fill.
It smells the blood, so warm with heat.
It’ll drink it down, and saves the meat!”
A cry rose from the darkness, followed by painful whining. “No! No! I won’t hurt them! Agguuh! I won’t hurt them! I promise! I promise! I am your child…your little servant child. Please! No more! No more!” It grew quiet for a moment, and then the voice sputtered, “Not hungry! Not hungry now!”
“By the gods!” the first guard wailed, jabbing his spear toward the hog pens.
A black shape slowly emerged out of the darkness as if rising out of the very filth of the ground and wobbled straight for the two guards. Hobbling and weaving from side to side, a hunched-backed, two-legged beast from the Underworld made straight for the pen’s gate, all the time cackling and cursing its complaints for need of food then declaring it wasn’t hungry.
The foul creature was forced to stop at the gate, it being tied shut, letting go vile curses and oaths, damning the worlds of the living and the dead, finally muttering, “Sees if I shares my feasts with them again!” And then it became silent. A hand almost as black as the creature’s ragged robe poked out of a fold, reaching up and untying the rope.
As the gate slowly creaked open, a mouth hidden by a faceless hood cooed with a hissing cackle, “He said they would be pretty…he did say…he did.” The creature laughed.
“They are pretty…they are…they are. He said they would be fresh and juicy…he did…”
The creature then fussed in disgust, “But I don’t like fresh! I don’t like fresh! I like ripe…sweet…soft and ripe.” It made a smacking sound and started toward the two guards.
“Stop there! Stop there!” the guards yelled, so unnerved they had trouble holding their spears.
The putrid creature hidden in stinking rags halted. Lifting its head as if to examine them, it indignantly threatened, “Master said you would be nice boys…yes… he said it.
He said you would be good to me,” adding with a bitter hiss, “not like the others. They were bad, bad little boys!” The thing cautiously looked around, making sure they were alone. Finally comfortable that ‘whatever’ wasn’t there, it lowered its voice and laughed,
“but they was tasty…soft and tasty,” as smacking sounds echoed on the still, cold air.
“Get back, you devil! Get back! I’ll stick you! I will! I will!” The second guard’s spear shook so violently it nearly fell from his hands.
The creature hissed, “Yes, yes, you know me? That’s good! My lord said you would…yes, yes he did.” Its voice changed to that of a waffie on the take. “He said you
like money. I have money, good money. Not to hurt the pretty boys, he said. I have money.” A dirty, bony hand poked out of a fold in the ragged robes, this time holding a little leather pouch. Its other hand reached out, fingers rummaging around inside the pouch, eventually pulling out two silver coins glinting in the cold starlight. It threw them on the ground near the guards who jumped back in fright.
The tiny, dark figure fell silent, patiently waiting for the guards to respond as they cautiously watched this smelly creature, occasionally glancing at the money near their feet. “Get a light!” the second guard ordered.
The first guard backed away, opened the prison door and reached in, taking a flickering torch from the wall. Holding it at arm’s length, he looked toward the creature, but could see only shadows under the hood. He then stared at the two stater coins tossed on the muddy bricks, nearly a week’s pay for each man.
The creature laughed with glee, slowly rocking from side to side, “My master says there’s more, yes more, but I must do master’s will first.”
Holding his spear high, just in case, the second guard reached down and picked up the coins. After studying them in the torchlight, he exclaimed, “They’re real! Look!”
He handed one to the other guard.
Hefting the coin and then rubbing it between his finger and thumb, he thought for a minute. Eyeing the creature with caution, the second guard finally asked, “What do you want?”
Shuffling closer, until threatened again, the creature leaned forward and just above a whisper, hissed, “You have a man in there. He makes fun of the gods…he makes fun of master. Master is unhappy. Sends me to talk to foolish man.”
“And what is his name?” the second guard asked suspiciously.
The hooded figure laughed, “We call him ‘Talker’, because he does not know how to shut up. But others call him, sh… sh…” It nervously held its hand up to the faceless opening and, first letting go with more curses and oaths, whispered as if in pain,
“Cee...phasss..”
“Who?!” the guards howled, pointing their spears as they did.
The second guard stepped forward, shouting, “Be off with you, you…whatever you are! Take your money and go away!” He threw his coin at the creature.
It growled in anger and turned to leave, and had only taken a step when it cried in pain and fell back, wailing, “No, please, not my fault! Not my fault!” Ranting on, flailing its arms, it cursed the guards. Suddenly, as if warding off a blow, the putrid thing raised its hands and cried, begging for mercy, “I tried! You said they were nice boys.
You said they like money, money!” then angrily sputtered, “They are not nice little boys, they do not like good money!”
With the same suddenness, the creature quieted and stretched forward. “What? Yes, yes, they would,” and giggled as it turned back toward the guards, asking, “But how?”
Then it cocked its head as though being whispered a reply. There was a burst of laughter and, “Worms? Yes, yes, worms. It makes them tender, nice and tender.”
The guards listened, terror gripping them as the creature argued over what was to be done with the two. There were sounds of laughter, followed by, “Yes, yes, that is good.”
With disgust, the creature jumped back and fumed, “No! Don’t burn them. It tastes better cold and soft.” There was a smacking sound again. “Better for my mouth...”
Terrified, the guards cowered, pressing their bodies against the prison wall.
The creature moaned, bending low like a dog seeking mercy from its master. It whimpered, “Not good boys. Don’t like money. You said they would like money,” then perked up and laughed, asking, “Leprosy? Give them leprosy?” Slowly turning its head toward the guards, it let out a maniacal hiss. “Yes, yes, worms, but first leprosy. Bad little boys...” it starting to raise its arms and begin some kind of a chant.
As though an invisible hand had reached out and grabbed the creature, snapping its head back and swinging it around, half-sobbing, it cackled, “You said I could, you did, you did!” then became quiet, seemingly listening to someone. The creature started to argue, “What? More money? But they don’t like it! What? Gold? Gold money? You will give bad boys gold? Let’s eat them instead. Eat them!”
Again it whimpered like a whipped dog, but soon quieted. After what seemed ages to the guards, the creature shrugged, “All right,” while turning and shuffling in their direction, stopping just outside spear-thrust range. It cackled, “Master will give you gold money, good money…to good little boys,” rubbing its hands together, rolling two coins over another. “Yes he will, he said. He promised.”
“How much money?” the second guard asked, barely controlling his panic. “How much money do you give us?!”
The creature laughed as it slowly bobbed up and down and from side to side, turning its head away from the guards. “Good boys, good little boys. You said they would like the pretty money. Yes, yes you did.” It looked back and started to shuffle forward.
“Stop there!” both men yelled, dropping their spear points in front of the opened hood.
The creature halted, whining, “You asked! You asked me! How much money?
How much pretty, shiny, money?”
“Tell us! Tell us how much!” the second guard shouted, his voice belying his fear.
Excitement grew in its shrill voice. “I will show you! Good boys. He said you are nice little boys. Not to hurt good little boys. He said to be nice. Master says to be nice to little boys… I will, I will… Please, see my money. Master says see it.”
As the creature silently swayed from side to side, the guards could see clouds of steamy mist escape from under the hood. Finally, the second guard told the first to move closer to see the money.
“Why me!?” cried the first, clutching his spear tighter. “It may attack me!”
The second reassured him, “I’ll hold the point of my spear in its face and keep the torch high. If it tries somthin’, I’ll stick it.” Then turning to the creature, he bravely demanded, “No tricks!”
The filthy figure cowered, lifting its arms for protection, the leather pouch swinging from its hand. “Don’t hurt me. Master said be good. Little child is being good, very good.” It shook its head. “Not hungry now, not now. Promised I would be good, be good.”
The first guard hesitantly inched forward, stopping about arm’s length from the creature’s hood. The stinky thing appeared so small at this distance. How dangerous could it really be? Courage started to build in the guard’s heart.
“Put your hand out!” the creature hissed. The guard jumped back, startled, his bravado instantly disappearing. “The hand, I say! Put out your hand for the money, the pretty money.” He wanted to bolt, but the second guard chided him for being a coward.
Very slowly, the man extended his hand, palm up, fearing giant fangs might rip it from
his arm. The little creature croaked with delight, lifted the bag, and emptied its contents into the guard’s opened palm.
He jumped back quickly, staring at the coins in his hand. The creature cackled with laughter. “Good money. Master said it is good money, pretty, shiny money.” Wide-eyed, the two guards examined the coins. There were eleven more silver stater coins, making a total of thirteen. A frown grew on the second guard’s face. He glowered, shaking his spear at the creature. “Wait here! You said there was gold money. This ain’t gold.”
“Gold! Yes gold!” the creature chirped, bobbing up and down, “Pretty gold money…later,” then lowered its voice to a menacing hiss, “when done with master’s will.
When done with my job.”
“Give it to us now!” the second guard demanded. “Now or we’ll stick ya!”
Raising its arms and angrily growling, “I’ll give you! I’ll give you…” its voice suddenly cut off as the creature pitched back, nearly falling to the pavement.
The guards shrunk against the wall, throwing their hands up over their faces, watching as the creature gaggled and coughed and started to whimper as though being beaten by some invisible hand. Finally, it cried out, “No more! No more! Little child will be good! Good little child! Please! Please!” It fell to the street as though being released. Painfully standing, rubbing its side, the creature faced the guards and whined,
“Gold, yes, gold money. Will make you rich.” It then threatened, “Master is tired of playing. First must talk to foolish man, must talk!”
The guards argued over what to do, fearful of the demon and its master, but equally fearful of the prison’s sergeant. Finally, the second said, “You stay here and I’ll see the head man.” The first started to complain, but was cut off by a sharp retort. “Shat’ap, fool! Yu’l be alright. Just keep your spear pointed at it.” Without waiting for a response, the second guard turned and hurried through the prison door.
His returning seemed to take ages. All the while, the little stinky creature continued to slowly rock from side to side, humming some tune just under its breath. The wary guard stared at it and then down at the coins in his hand. As time passed, he looked more at the coins than at the creature, moving his fingers, making the coins slide from one side of his hand to the other, and then back again. What wealth! What wealth - more money than he had seen at one time in his entire life! He began to dream of the many things he could possess with those monies - the women, wine, and power the money could bring.
Hurried footsteps jarred him back to the moment.
The sergeant of the prison burst from the door. “All right, what’s the… Whew!
What is that god-awful stink?!” He looked at the black shape rocking to and fro in the torchlight, and let out his breath. “Have the souls of the slain risen to offend us?!”
Laughing erupted from under the creature’s hood. “Yes, in a way, yes.” It smacked its lips then grumped, “Not hungry now.”
The sergeant was taken aback, falling over the second guard, nearly toppling the both of them. Quickly regaining his balance and attempting to do the same with his dignity, he demanded, “What do you want?! Tell me now or be off!”
The creature raised a bony hand and pointed it directly at the sergeant as it hissed contemptuously, “You took my money, you did, you did. Now give up your end to me, to me. Now” it cackled, “or be forever cursed!”
The stunned sergeant’s face reddened in anger. He was about to order his guards to attack this beast when the torchlight flashed off the two coins given him by the second guard. He blankly stared at them. His anger was now turned toward the guards. “How many did it give you?” When no answer came, he shouted, “How many?”
The first guard started fidgeting with his fingers, while his face twisted up with consternation. At long last, he stuttered, “‘Leven, yea, ‘leven.” then pointed toward the sergeant’s hand, “plus those two.”
“That’s thirteen, you stupid fool! Thirteen!” The sergeant glared at the creature, demanding, “What curse do you bring tonight? Why the devil’s wage?”
The creature raised its hands in dispute, shaking its head. “No curse, no curse…
Good little boys, pretty little boys. Not hurt pretty boys. Master said to give more money, more money. Will remove the curse…” the creature lowered its voice and shook its finger, “if little boys are good…yes, master will remove it.”
“Give me a lamp!” the sergeant demanded. “Now! Get it now!”
The second guard hurried through the door, soon to come back with a flaming, oil-wick lamp. Taking it and motioning for the creature to come closer, the sergeant bent down, shining the light so he could peer inside the hood. He let out a short gasp, but lingered to have a good look. Coal-black eyes stared out from a death-white, pockmarked face with caked chunks of mealy skin hanging from it. The creature’s mouth was a gaping black hole of a laughing smile, out of which some kind of juice drooled. The sergeant could also see strange marks and runes carved in the creature’s flesh.
The sergeant stood up, waving his hand while making a face. “God, it stinks… like something dead!” He backed away, keeping an eye on the creature which patiently remained there, swaying side to side. Nearing the guards, he whispered, “It’s a witch of the Devil, himself, all right, or worse…maybe a demon.” He quietly attempted to reassure the others. “If it had wanted to kill us, we’d all be dead by now. I really do believe its business is not with us tonight, else you’d not have received the money.” He asked the creature, “Who are you? What do you want here?”
It hissed in anger at the question, “I have spoken to the little boys. Not nice boys.
They were supposed to tell.”
The sergeant was stern with his reply. “I want you to tell me! ”
After muttering more curses and fussing that it had already told the others, the creature grudgingly obeyed. “My lord has business with a bad man…his business, not yours.” It then softly cooed, “I am his little child. Good child, nice to pretty boys.” It extended its hand, slowly pawing the air. There was a sharp cry and the hand vanished under the creature’s ragged garment as it unleashed some more curses and then moaned,
“Not hungry, not hungry now.”
The sergeant spoke up bravely, but his voice could not hide his trepidation. “We won’t let you hurt Cephas.”
The creature jumped, thrashing it arms about. “Don’t say its name, its name! ” crying in pain, “Call it ‘Talker’, ‘Talker’!” uttering more oaths and calling out incantations, seeking to ward off some sort of evil because the man’s name had been spoken aloud. It soon calmed, satisfied that any possible danger was now passed and shook its head. “Not hurt bad man. Not hurt him. You can do that, do that tomorrow,” it giggled. “Yes, yes, that’s for you. Must talk to bad man tonight, while he still lives.”
The creature again fumed in disgust. “He insults the gods!” then reassured them,
“Just talk, yes, talk business, my master’s business.” Turning and motioning with its hands, it pleaded, “Be patient…patient, I say. Don’t hurt them. I promised you wouldn’t hurt them.” Turning back to the men, it clasped its hands and waited.
Although fearful, the sergeant remembered the coins. “The money…what of the money, the thirteen coins that brings a curse? And what of the gold you promised?”
Laughter filled the cold night air. “Yes, gold… gold money for the good boys, and more silver.” The stinky thing held up its bony fingers. “Three more silver coins…
three! Bring good luck to little boys.” Then its voice suddenly became threatening. “But first, business. Must do master’s business now or master will not be kind to little boys.”
The three men huddled in deep discussion over what they should do. If they received no more money, then a curse would surely befall them, but if the prisoner were hurt, the governor would throw them to the lions or even worse. They also reasoned if they didn’t allow the creature in, it might put a spell on Cephas, possibly killing him.
Then they would be thrown to the lions anyway. After several minutes of arguing, it was concluded they best chance the witch. At least there was a possibility the creature would hold up its end of the bargain.
The sergeant finally motioned the creature forward. When it got close, he asked,
“You promise no funny stuff, not to hurt him? You promise us more money, too?”
“Yes! Yes!” it sputtered impatiently. “And more money for good little boys, too.
But first business! Master’s business!”
The sergeant gave orders to the first guard, “You stay here and watch,” while he told the other to come with him.
The first guard complained about being left alone. The sergeant silenced him with a few expletives and threats, after which he ordered, “Now keep a good watch and don’t fall asleep!”
* * *
‘Remember, my Dear, there is a reward beyond this life for those who remain loyal to Yehowah. You must be willing to sacrifice all things for it.’
Ishtar could hear her uncle’s words echoing in her head over and over again. Each time they did, her pain would ease, freeing her mind to think.
‘Yes, Uncle, I know. But I need no reward. I love my God. I will serve him without reward.’ How many times had that statement crossed her lips? Was that really so, or had she only said it to impress others?
There was a sudden rustling near her. Ishtar’s eyes popped open in fright. The dim, golden glow from a light filled the cell. Who was there? Was Perk returned to ravish her again? The girl’s heart pounded in rising panic. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of seeing Perk’s garish grin. Nothing…no foul voice or brutish hands mauling her flesh…nothing. All remained silent.
Eventually, the girl’s curiosity overcame her fears. She needed to know what was happening. Her heart needed to know what fate was to befall it, should it explode within her chest. Cautiously and ever so slowly, she pushed up and back onto her knees. Still nothing. Gathering up courage, she opened her eyes. Nothing…no shadows or sounds…
just a comforting, golden glow filled the room.
Strange, Ishtar could see no lamp or torch. In fact, the light source seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. She rubbed her eyes, thinking herself dreaming. The light remained, still illuminating the room. But where was it coming from? Seeing no sign of its source only made the girl more determined to find what was making the light. Ishtar struggled to stand, moaning as she did.
The golden light shone out from her cell into the darkness of the prison, but from where? Ignoring her pain, the girl began to explore for its source, searching nooks and crannies everywhere in the little cell. She was stooped down in a far corner when sound of gentle footfall echoed in her ears. Sucking in a breath and crying aloud in fright, Ishtar spun around, terrified of who she might see.
Words cannot describe Ishtar’s shock at seeing a young woman appearing no older than her standing just outside the prison cell. A smiling, gentle face crowned with dark hair was pressed to the bars, twinkling, emerald green eyes of almost hypnotic brilliance peering at her. The light revealed her ivory-colored, silky-smooth skin wrapped in a white satin, sleeveless gown, pinned at the shoulders by two silver brooches.
Ishtar stared in disbelief and surprise. The woman did not move, nor did she speak.
Who was this person? Was this only a vision or a dream? Was the girl dead and gone to her promised glory? Was this her soul looking back at her as it prepared to leave for other worlds? The girl began to drift toward the haunting enchantress, extending her hand as if it were leading her along.
Slowly, she drew near until her face nearly touched the woman’s. Ishtar knew not whether it was seconds or an eternity that the two remained there, eye to eye, frozen in time. A spell held the girl in its grip, refusing to give her release. All the while, she could feel some kind of energy flowing into her beaten body, soothing her heart and mind.
The woman finally broke the spell. In a musical voice, talking just above a whisper, she spoke to the girl. “Ishtar, I must have a word with you.” Startled, Ishtar stepped back. The woman quietly opened the cell door and entered. The girl marveled in awe watching this person. Her grace and beauty were beyond description. The fluidity of her movements could not be described as walking, but more like a drifting swan on a summer breeze. And her beauty was so great, the girl’s heart started to burn with such a passion, she feared it might burst. She stood transfixed, unable to remove her eyes from this magnificent goddess.
The woman reached out a hand, touching Ishtar’s shoulder and, with two fingers, let it drift down to the girl’s elbow. A raging fire and a freezing cold raced through Ishtar, starting at her shoulder and spreading like a tidal wave across the girl’s flesh. The woman’s fingers continued down the girl’s arm, stopping at her opened palm. She then reached out with her other hand and cupped the girl’s hand between hers.
An ecstasy of emotion erupted in Ishtar’s head and her heart filled with joyous sensations the likes of which the girl had never experienced. Was this feeling the same as a woman enraptured in the arms of her lover? It was but a fleeting thought as Ishtar was swept along in this surge of intoxicating joy. The rush of emotion crested with the girl’s cry of delight and then slowly ebbed, leaving her feeling satisfied and refreshed.
Gone were the earlier terrors of the night, having faded away like some nearly forgotten dream. Perk’s evil was little more than a memory, horrid and chilling…but still only a memory. She felt clean. ‘The peace that excels all thought.’ Those were the only
words she could think of. ‘The peace that excels all thought.’ She glanced down and received another shock. The child was clean, cleaner than if she had bathed.
The woman held up a gown similar to hers. “Here, my lovely one, take this. Put it on and come with me.” With the woman’s assistance, Ishtar managed to dress. The gown’s fabric was iridescent, shimmering with rich hues of blue, green and gold. It also had two silver brooches that glittered in the golden light. The woman then drew out two golden sandals like her own and slipped them on Ishtar’s feet. She grinned, pleased,
“There! You’re now ready for our stroll,” and gently led Ishtar from the cell.
As they walked along the passages, Ishtar noticed how quiet it was. Everyone, even the guard, was fast asleep. But what was even more spectacular was that the golden light remained in their company, illuminating the rooms and hallways. No person barred their path. Even the heavy iron door was swung fully opened. The two gingerly stepped over one of the sleeping guards as they exited onto the foggy street.
The woman glanced around, lifting her head as if smelling the breeze. Her voice filled with urgency. “Come quickly! This fleeting hour will soon pass. Much there is to do and so little time to do it.” She urged Ishtar along, and both disappeared into the dense haze.
The fog was so thick, Ishtar could not tell how far they traveled, nor did she know how long a time they walked until coming out of it. When it broke, she saw they were standing on the crest of a little hill overlooking a broad, moonlit valley alive with the scents of a warm spring evening.
The woman permitted the girl little time to luxuriate in this tapestry of the delights surrounding them, squeezing her hand. “Ishtar, my sweet one, we must talk.” The girl was so caught up in the moment, the woman had to repeat herself twice before getting her attention.
Reluctantly, Ishtar pulled herself away from this enchanting dream world. “I’m sorry, but I have never seen such…” She was stunned into silence. The light that was accompanying them was now emanating from the woman, her skin and clothing radiating with a golden glow, lighting the area around them. “Wha… Wha… Your… Who ar…”
Ishtar stared into the woman’s emerald-green eyes, reedy pools of green so deep. She felt another universe must be hidden within those eyes.
Ishtar was becoming aware that she was standing in the presence of a creature not of her kind. As that realization filled her mind, she grew fearful for her life. Should this person truly be a messenger of God, how could she survive? The girl fell to her knees, clasping her hands together and raising them high, crying, “My Lord, forgive me for my insolence. Forgive me, please, for looking upon the face of God!”
“Ishtar, stand up,” a gentle but firm voice responded. “I am not God, just an ordinary servant of His house. Now, please, my sister, there is much to be done. I have no time for this. Please, stand.” She pulled Ishtar up. “Child, I am not from your world, that is true, but I am still your sister. Are we not all children of God?”
Ishtar was nearly beside herself with anxiety. The woman wiped tears from the girl’s eyes and held her shaking hands. “My child, blessed you are among women. Had you not been found delightful to God, he would not have bothered with you. You have nothing to fear from me, but there is reason to fear.”
That statement caught the girl’s attention. The woman smiled, “My child, I have been sent to offer you a choice.” She swept her left hand in the direction of the distant
hills. “Look, please, to see your future. There are two roads being offered to you. Each contains a blessing and a price, but one may be greater. You choose.” The woman opened her hand, revealing a tooled leather pouch. Ishtar gazed down at its opening. The purse was filled with silver and gold monies, a king’s ransom. “Here...” The woman placed the purse in Ishtar’s hand.
The girl gasped. A person could live a lifetime and never acquire such wealth.
“What is this all about?” she asked, not able to take her eyes off the money.
An answer came quickly. “You may take this money and go. Travel north, then east, continuing on until the roaring sea faces you. There you will find peace for the rest of your many days in this realm. A husband of valor and kindness will be waiting for you at the end of your journey. He will fall in love with you and refuse to leave your side. Never will cruelty and suffering befall you again. Your womb will become fat with children and your breasts will swell with the sweet milk of life. No enemy will enter your gate nor will famine or thirst find you. That is the gift of the first road.”
A sweet smile crept across the girl’s face. She imagined what her life would be like, her husband of valor, the many fat and happy children she would nurse, and then the smiled faded as she considered the cost. As she slowly closed her hand around the money as if fondling a dream, the girl frowned, asking, “What is the price? What is the price of that road? What does it cost me?”
The woman closed her hands around the girl’s, hiding the money from view. “For you,” she looked away, “being a good wife and mother will not always be easy.” Ishtar was not satisfied with the woman’s answer. She could see her skirting the question. Once more she asked, “What is the price of that road, and what of the other? You do not tell me yet what the second road is. How shall I choose wisely if you do not tell me?”
The woman was surprised. “Is the first road not good enough for you? Why must I tell you of the other? Enjoy your gifts. You have earned them. They are a reward for all your sacrifice.”
Ishtar was becoming impatient. “What is the second road from which I may choose, and what is the price demanded for taking it?”
Slowly shaking her head, the woman sighed, “So much like your uncle you are. A little knowledge is a dangerous tool.” Ishtar pressed her for an answer. The woman surrendered to Ishtar’s will. “All right, I will tell you. Your Lord said that some of his servants would speak before kings and governors. They would stand in front of crowds in defense of his God. They would prove his enemy a liar. That is the blessing of your second road.”
The woman grasped Ishtar by the arms and stared into her eyes. Great sadness grew on her face and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Take the monies and go. Unsung is the hero who succeeds in secret, but a hero that person is nonetheless. Yet to fail while attempting the sublime will only bring one shame and humiliation. You have run your race to the full. Enjoy your reward.”
Ishtar was quick with her reply, and her tongue sharp and scolding. “You offered me two roads. It is my choosing as to which one I take, not yours! Now, please, it is your turn to confess to me what the fate of the second road is. It is my right to know.”
“Yes…yes, I did,” the woman softly replied. She could not look the child in the eyes. “The tiller man is not kind when the tempest descends upon the sea. He exacts a high wage to deliver one to safe harbor. There is no safe harbor to be found on this
second path. Only the black abyss of death awaits the sojourner. There is no escape from that destiny.” She looked up into the girl’s eyes. “So why trouble the spirits with such a fatal choice? Enjoy the blessings already offered you.”
Ishtar was not swaged. “I have a right to know! I choose my own fate, not you!
You offered me two roads. Must I barter with you…or is mine a free choice ? ”
A warning filled with indignation crossed the woman’s lips. “Shall a child rebuke its father and not be chastised? Dare you show God’s servant such disrespect and not fear retribution?!” The reproof was not wasted on the child. She humbly begged forgiveness, apologizing for her flagrant disrespect. Still, she pressed the issue, pointing out that she had been offered a choice.
“Yes, my little one, you have been offered a choice.” The woman thought a moment, adding, “It is sometimes better to not know the price until it has to be delivered up. Would you be able to see it through if you did know?”
Ishtar was more respectful, but still firm in her resolve. “The tiller man cannot exact a thief’s price if his charge knows the journey’s route. I will not travel the road blindly when knowledge can light up the dangers I must face.”
The woman shrugged, resigning herself to telling Ishtar everything. “All right…
The price that is to be paid is not yours alone. It will be demanded from both you and your uncle, and it is high. He will be tested to betray his love for his God, to preserve your life. If he remains loyal, you…” she shook her head, “you will die a most horrible death in the arena, torn apart by beasts. Should he fail in his test, your death by wild beasts will be delayed but for a day so that vile men may have their way with you.”
Ishtar groaned in dismay, “So that is my test? The price I must pay to take the second road?”
“No…” the woman answered. “You, for your part, will have no control regarding the outcome in this approaching test. It is your uncle’s to decide. Your test will arrive sooner. The finality will be the same, should you fail or succeed, but it will either be death in victory…or defeat.”
Ishtar silently pondered the matter then asked, “What of my test, then? If I am to die, do I not deserve to know what it will be?”
“You pose a question I cannot answer,” the woman softly replied. “It is great, because your enemy will continue to offer you a way out. If your heart is not complete toward your God, you will not succeed. Easy it is to fool the heart when a door of escape is opened for you. And gentle speech may well hide a deceitful tongue.” She closed Ishtar’s fingers around the purse. “Here, take the money I give and leave. Enjoy your blessing to the full.” Ishtar watched the woman turn away and then mutter as if to herself, “This war is not hers to fight. How can you ask this of the child?”
The girl reached into the pouch and played with a few coins. Her mind could not conjure up visions of the treasures this money offered. The coins suddenly felt dirty, unclean. She dropped the money back into the purse. Indeed, everything about the first road felt wrong, like delicious food that turns sour in one’s belly.
As Ishtar reasoned over the things she had been told, her mind filled with suspicion.
She felt compelled to ask, “You did not come from above the stars to wish a child well and give her a gift of gifts. I do know for a fact that God does not work in such ways. So tell me, please, should I take the monies and depart, upon whose head does the duty fall?”
The woman did not answer. She continued to look toward the east, tears trickling down her face as she pleaded with Ishtar, “Take the monies. We will work things out.”
Ishtar grabbed hold of the woman’s arm. “I can make no commitment without understanding! Now tell me! Who pays the bill for my happiness?”
Covering her eyes with her hands, the woman sobbed, “My Lord and my God pays the price, for your uncle is needed elsewhere in this realm. It is not his day to die. If you leave, they will destroy him.”
Ishtar lowered her head, thinking aloud. “So, my soul in place of his...”
The woman turned to the girl, distraught. “No one deserves to be asked what has been of you, but there is no other way! My soul instead of yours I would gladly offer, yet it is not to be. Only you have the power to save your uncle on this morrow. He must prove his worth. His destiny demands it of him.”
Ishtar released her hold on the woman. “Here, take back your money. How can a man enjoy a warm bed and a full belly when his family starves in the cold? I am not that wicked!” She pushed the purse into the woman’s hand. “Now return me to the nether world and the demons who await me.” A shudder ran through her as a sickness grew in her stomach. “I will wait there for my time to come.”
There was no stopping the woman’s tears. She kissed the child, promising, “The spirit of my God will stay with you, and I…yes, I swear, as I am alive and do live…I will remain by your side to comfort my cherished sister in her distress.” She embraced the girl and gave her another kiss. “Until the day when we will share the wine and the good times...” The woman began to fade into a rising mist.
Ishtar cried, “Who are you?! What is your name?! I need to know! What is it?!”
As the woman became little more than a fleeting shadow, she sadly called from the mist, “To many, I am only ‘the troubling one’. To others, I am known as the ‘child of pain’.”
Fog swept in upon Ishtar. She reached out for the woman, but could not find her.
Air swirled around the child like a cyclone, its sound as though thousands of birds taking flight. Up into the whirlwind the girl rose, spinning faster and faster until her head became dizzy and faint. Eventually the windstorm subsided, gently dropping Ishtar down in a pile of soft straw.
The surrounding sounds and smells told Ishtar that she was again in the prison cell.
She began to wonder if she had ever left. Maybe it was but a dream caused by the blows Perk had delivered to her head. Still, it was such a beautiful dream. Could it have been a magic dream? A vision? Her uncle had told her of visions. But visions were something special, reserved for men of great renown, not her. The girl shrugged. Not to matter.
Whatever it was, she felt refreshed by it.
There was no light for the child to see with, no window to let in the moonlight and no lamps even in the distant rooms to permit any sight. The sound of heavy sleeping was all that disturbed the silence. Even the rats had apparently decided to take a holiday.
Ishtar leaned back on the straw. Strange…it smelled fresh and her pains from the night’s beatings were gone. The girl began recalling the details of her wonderful dream, not wanting to forget a thing about it. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around them as she did, her heart jumped in excitement. Even in the blackness, she could tell the feel of satin, the smooth, silky satin of her beautiful dream gown.
* * *
The dark of WacxGonn trees with their low-hanging evergreen boughs gave Darla little solace. She darted along the path, flitting in and out of their protective shadows.
The gown, so effective in dazzling Ishtar, acted like a beacon every time the woman stepped into the moonlit night.
Searching eyes could be anywhere now. There had been no time for Darla to gather her flight suit and weapons. She was sure they, along with all the vision gadgets, were long since discovered. Legion would not be pleased to have someone messing with his
‘special toy’. The woman was beginning to regret not waiting for the remainder of the mission team, but what else could she have done? If they failed to make contact with the child this night, the entire mission would be in jeopardy.
Darla pulled a communicator from a hidden pocket in her dress. A series of tiny blue lights flashed to life in rapid succession only to fade, one after another. Again they would flash, searching for an incoming signal. Still nothing... ‘They should at least be here by now. What’s taking them…?’
There was good reason for Darla to worry. This was a strange and curious world she found herself wandering alone in. Long years before, Euroaquilo, her mentor and intimate companion, had journeyed with the woman into this place. His warnings, recalled, did not bring comfort. ‘This is a world that defies all known laws. It’s quirky, doing as it pleases, and biding no intruder’s commands. You would do well not to wander here alone.’
Euroaquilo had informed Darla of some of the known and imagined history of this place, most still a dark mystery to even the oldest and wisest of her kind. It had been said that time and space matter little here. Sojourners navigated it by linking up complex mathematical coordinates with existing star system charts, adding in galactic rotational calculations and then, as Euroaquilo said, ‘would mix in a little gut feeling’ and there was their destination.
Her successful and timely arrival had been no small miracle. She managed the rendezvous point at Eden’s Gate after losing two bandits intent on her interception. After waiting several hours for her contacts, she ventured through the jump portal, trusting to her own ability in finding the single portal stream out of millions that would deliver her to this one location.
She arrived in time by chance, she thought, to make the two league’s distance from the ship to the city and then still have time to change into the gown and set up the vision gadgets. Although never actually leaving this Middle Realm and transferring into the land of humans, often called by her people the ‘Second’ or ‘Lower Realm’, by using the vision machines and her very limited mental abilities, the girl successfully completed the mission, maybe not as good as Gabrielle, but damn good , anyway!
The crisp snap of a twig alerted Darla to possible danger. She slunk back further away from the trail, under the trees. It could have been one of many things causing that disturbance. Her heart raced in fearful anticipation. Attempting to calm her jitters, she contemplated the possibilities. After all, there was a menagerie of huge beasts in this land. One might very well be tracking her, more out of curiosity than ill intent.
Then there were the ‘People of the Mist’, one of the names given the mysterious race who existed long before her kind were born. Accounts of these people were both
mythical and intriguing. They were referred to as ‘Spirit Walkers’, ‘Guardians’,
‘Cherubs’, ‘Blazing Wings’, to name a few. Darla had always liked the term
‘HootinSmokers’, a name given them by some of the most ancient of her race who claimed to have actually seen them. The wild antics of those storytellers had caused her, as a little girl, to roll in laughter as their tales were acted out.
Legends told that when Darla’s kind began growing in number, the People of the Mist withdrew into the hidden lands of this Middle Realm, becoming little more than ghostly shadows on moonlit nights. It was said that they slept in silence until their Master would wake them to glory in the last trumpet call. Well, that was one of the stories she had been told when a little child. The woman hoped the intruder might well be either of these two things.
A shudder ran down her spine, as she thought of Euroaquilo’s warning given her so long ago. 'It is also a very dangerous place since the Rebellion. Every debased, vile creature frequents these haunts, making it necessary to never travel here alone.'
After the Rebellion, war had broken out in the Middle Realm. Although its expanse appeared limitless and much of it was still unexplored, key locations had been fought over for many centuries. In fact, this was where the major part of the wars had been fought up to this night. Darla was no stranger to these wars. She was a hardened veteran, having been engaged in all three Megiddo Wars, the Persian Debacle, the MedoGrecian Crusade and the Maccabean Decade. But she had been one in a crowd of countless thousands then. Tonight she was alone and naked, bereft of weapon or comrade.
Listening to the continuing night noises and detecting no other unusual sounds, Darla decided to chance a run for her ship. Considering the gown to be a hindrance, she kneeled down to unlace her sandals, quietly removing them. With a grunt, she stood and began pulling the dress over her head.
“Got’ya!”
Darla spun around and dropped into a crouch, her arms and head still wrapped up in the gown. She was preparing to be assailed by hands intent on her capture. Legion would be most pleased with such a prize and could be counted on to give a rich reward to the person delivering her.
‘Cr-a-ack!’ Whoever wielded the club had no intention of taking his trophy alive.
The blow caught Darla just below her right eye, lifting her off her feet and sending her sprawling, face down, onto the pathway. A rough hand yanked Darla over onto her back as she groaned in pain. Another person pulled off the gown and exclaimed, “She ain’t dead, Yulackk! You must be losin’ your touch.”
Yulackk bent close to examine the damage his attack had done. Darla’s eye was little more than bloody pulp, her upper jaw crushed and her nose split, but she was still very much alive. He glanced at Darla’s upper arm and noticed its awkward angle. “The bitch’s arm got in the way. Ain’t my fault!” He laughed, “Did a number on it, though...”
The second man stepped closer. “Get outta the way, Yulackk. I want to get a look at who we have.”
“She’s just a bitch, Gihon, some worthless, little nobody.” Yulackk grinned, “I was right when I said we’d get the same for her dead or alive.”
“Outta the way, you!” Gihon demanded. “I’ll decide if it’s a ‘nobody bitch’ or not.”
Yulackk grumbled, wanting to finish her off so he could get back to more important matters. Gihon motioned him away, saying to wait. He knelt down on one knee,
straddling one of Darla’s legs, and leaned in close to her face to get a better look in the dim light.
Giggles and laughter filled the night air. Two women came jogging up the trail.
When they got near, one of them called out asking if the men had found the intruder.
Gihon ignored the woman’s question. He scrutinized Darla’s face, but could not connect it with anyone he knew.
Just as he was about to reveal his findings, a hand flew up to his ear. Gihon screamed in pain as Darla dug her nails in and began tearing it off while driving her knee hard into his groin. Yulackk jumped forward shouting, kicking Darla in the side of her head. Knocked senseless by the blow, the woman’s body went limp. Gihon rolled on to his side, groaning in pain.
“Has our lord Gihon’s tool been broken?” one of the women teased. The second woman derogatorily accused, “How does a chieftain in Legion’s house explain his being bested by someone without balls?” Both of them erupted in chiding laughter. They went on with their insults until Gihon, still clutching his groin, rolled onto his knees and, swearing and cursing, ordered them to shut up. He finally sat back on his haunches and lifted his kilt, glaring at the women. “You watch and see what my tool can do… and wish you hadn’t, for when I’m done with this,” he pointed at Darla, “I’m going to do the same with you two!”
With that, Gihon began to work up his manhood by brutalizing Darla with his hands, after which he started to violently rape her. “How do you like it now, you miserable piece of dog shit?! You could have made it easy on yourself and died quickly, but no , you wanted to make me the fool. I’ll show you who’s the fool! You’ll soon wish you were already dead!” He dug his nails into Darla’s breasts, angrily tearing at them.
Darla cried out in agony. It only made Gihon more sadistic. He bit and chewed at the woman’s face. He tore off her earlobe, chomped it into tiny pieces and spit it into her face. “Pray to Mother, you ugly shit worm. Maybe she’ll let you die!”
Darla turned her head to the side and coughed out blood and broken teeth. She could make no reply.
Gihon laughed, “See, the mother of harlots cares not for her children…” He released his passion in one heaving outburst and then fell on Darla’s chest. As he panted, he ridiculed her, snidely whispering in her ear, “Or is it just you…you worthless dung meat!”
After catching his breath, Gihon sat back on his knees, viewing with pleasure the results of his labors. He rested his bloodied hands on Darla’s legs, nodding, “You’re a delight to behold, nearly as beautiful as that tramp, Michael, was that day outside the palace. My artwork is nearly complete.” With that, he motioned to Yulackk. “Smash in its skull!”
Yulackk grinned, “I won’t hafta do it twice…” He swung his cudgel high over his head in one graceful move that transferred his body’s power into the weapon.
Gihon stared at Darla’s broken face, waiting to see Yulackk smash it to nothing.
“Do it good, you! I want a big splatter!”
‘ Sh…ur…rr flu…unk! ’ Yulackk yipped like a startled dog as the club fell from his hands.
“What the?!” Gihon looked in time to see Yulackk grab his face and stumble backward, a glistening black jillson bolt sticking from his face just below his nose.
‘ Sh…u-r-r-r flu…unk! ’ A second arrow slammed into Yulackk’s mouth, punching its way up through his skull and protruding out the back of his head until its waxy tail feathers disappeared into the man’s face. Yulackk let out a gasp as he spun around and fell, face down, in the dirt.
“Beetle dung! ” A woman in a silver-metallic flight suit came running out from the shadow of the trees, drawing forth a long double-edged battle sword as she advanced, its green, ghostly flame identifying it as a fearsome derker blade.
“Gabrielle!” Gihon quailed as he threw his hands up over his face.
Gabrielle halted beside Darla’s bleeding body, lifting her sword high, shouting,
“Master’s whore-maiden! Be off into damnation! ”
With a grunt, Gabrielle swung the weapon down and across, cleaving Gihon’s head and hands from his body. Blood squirted into the air as the lifeless corpse slowly keeled over, falling to the ground.
A woman screeched, “NasiSair! NasiSair! ” (meaning ‘ Prince of the Warlocks’). She and the other woman ran off, screaming, into the night.
The whooshing sound of several more jillson bolts followed them into the darkness, at least one finding its mark. There was a cry followed by a crashing thud of a body hitting the ground. The other woman continued fleeing, all the time sounding the alarm,
“NasiSair! NasiSair! ”
Tossing her sword aside, Gabrielle dropped down next to Darla and began searching for signs of life, gently resting her hand on the woman’s chest, relieved to feel a weak heartbeat. The girl still lived, but for how long? Gabrielle tenderly cradled Darla’s head in her hands and wept. “Oh, my child, my child… Forgive me! Oh, please, please forgive me!”
Sound of hurrying footsteps echoed in the darkness, the night air soon filled with groans of dismay and lament. Gabrielle was inconsolable. Her tears ran in rivers, mixing with the blood on Darla’s face. “I’m sorry, Mother, I’m so, so sorry! My soul instead of hers, I promised you! I promised…promised!” She looked up at the sky and wailed, “I have murdered your little daughter! Forgive me, please, Mother, please!”
Gabrielle paid no heed to the hustle of the others in her troop as they secured the area. One voice sounded above the others, giving orders and directions. “Periste, you and Chisamore stash these bodies. Planetee, take the others and set up a perimeter.
Sirion, stay with Gabrielle.”
Planetee motioned her orders to the others. In moments, they had faded into the darkness. Before doing the same, she asked, “Michael…er’ Mihai, what of the woman?
If she’s alive, do you want to take her prisoner?”
Mihai shook her head. “We will take no prisoners, understand?”
Planetee acknowledged and departed. Mihai turned her attention to Gabrielle and Darla. Periste and Chisamore were just returning from disposing of Gihon’s body, having very unceremoniously tossed his head and hands into a thicket. They then grabbed hold of Yulackk and dragged him into the shadows. Mihai tried to ignore the hacking sounds and curses coming from that direction.
Sirion mentioned it, though. “Periste can be mighty expressive when you get her temper up. They’ll have to bag him to bury him after she’s done!”
“That’s enough, Sirion…please!” Mihai softly scolded. “Help us with Darla and forget the night.”
The woman had stopped her open weeping. Through subdued, heaving sobs, she was choking out a healing song. Gabrielle was a mystical creature, a child whose life was cloaked in shadow and intrigue, quietly appearing in the First Realm shortly after the Rebellion began. It was said her powers of healing were second to none and that she had been known to restore life to those whose breath had long left them. Tonight this wizard worked her magic in order to prevent Darla from passing away.
Mihai leaned over Gabrielle, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, please, our child will live. I promise you. She will be delivered home safely to Mother’s arms.”
Darla groaned and moved her head. Mihai squeezed Gabrielle’s shoulder. “See!
Already your cure is having an effect! She will survive, I promise you. With your help, our daughter will pass through this fire.”
Gabrielle continued her healing songs, all the while caressing Darla’s injuries with her fingers. In time, she and Mihai could see a positive response to what she was doing.
Gradually, the girl regained consciousness.
Suddenly a hand shot up and gripped Gabrielle’s arm and Darla’s undamaged eye opened. She struggled in an attempt to communicate, rolling her head from side to side while pulling on Gabrielle’s flight suit. The woman held Darla’s head in her hands and softly whispered, “It’s alright, my lovely one…it’s alright. We’ll have you out of here shortly. The fleet’s not far away. Don’t fret, you’ll be fine.”
Darla stubbornly shook her head, crying out in pain from doing so. She struggled to speak, but only coughed out blood and more broken teeth. Mihai reached down and touched the girl’s shoulder, trying to reassure her. “You’re safe, Darling, you’re safe.
No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”
Mihai’s intended encouragement only frustrated the situation. Darla began to thrash about, forcing Gabrielle to restrain her. “This is no good!” Gabrielle moaned, “If this continues, she’ll damage herself even more.”
“Is there something you have to tell us?” Sirion asked Darla, catching her eye as she did. Darla quieted and painfully nodded. After several failed attempts to communicate, the girl’s face being so broken she could not move her mouth, she let out a cry and tears started.
Mihai pondered in thought a moment. She finally leaned close and whispered in Gabrielle’s ear, “Don’t you have the power to share with her in a waking dream?”
Gabrielle frowned, whispering back, “I have not attempted such a thing with someone in this condition. Her brain is badly bruised, and she’s hemorrhaging. Besides, the waking dream is most often shared between bonded lovers - men and women - if you know what I mean.”
Mihai was at a loss for ideas. She felt a waking dream was their only hope. “You must try something! Our girl is nearly beside herself with a desire to speak. I’m afraid she will die from anxiety should we fail her at this moment.”
“Do you understand?!” Gabrielle asked in fearful concern, still whispering. “A waking dream requires intense concentration on the part of both parties. I’m afraid that it will kill the child for me to do such a thing.” Darla squeezed Gabrielle’s arm. She was listening and revealed her willingness to take such a risk. Gabrielle argued awhile with Mihai and Sirion, but to no avail. She finally surrendered to their persuasion.
“I’ll try not to hurt you, Darling,” Gabrielle sadly crooned to Darla, “but it’s very dangerous.” Darla indicated her desire to continue. Placing her hands on each side of
Darla’s head, Gabrielle bent over until her forehead was touching Darla’s. She stared into Darla’s face and began to hum an enchanting tune. Darla attempted the same.
Gradually, the two women sank into a harmonic trance, oblivious to their surroundings.
It was only a matter of seconds, but for Darla and Gabrielle it was an endless encounter. The two drifted in worlds of time and space, sifting through thoughts and memories of many ages of men. Gabrielle struggled to focus her concentration on the issues of the moment. Darla, on the other hand, drifted in and out of consciousness, flitting from one dimension of thought into another.
With herculean effort, Gabrielle managed to break away. Pushing herself up, she let out a cry. “I have tried! I have tried! I am sick and my world spins with senseless riddles of confusion.” She dropped her head from exhaustion. “Give me a moment to sort things out.” The sickness rapidly passed and, as Gabrielle caught her breath while mulling over the visions in her head, she explained what happened. “A waking dream is casual, something used by romancing lovers as they flirt from afar. It was designed to transmit emotions and feelings, to increase passion and desire in the lovers’ hearts.” A shudder ran down Gabrielle’s spine. She shook her head. “I have never searched for other than feelings before. Hard…very hard to find words…and meaning. Give me some time to think.” She leaned forward, resting her weight on her hands, bowing her head.
People came and went in the camp, bringing Mihai information and seeking instructions. Tzidohn and Depais were approaching as Gabrielle revealed what she had learned. She sat on her knees, head up and hands on her legs. “Darla’s already made contact with the girl, but she took license with the way the encounter was orchestrated.”
Gabrielle’s tone sent shivers of foreboding across Mihai’s shoulders and down her arms. In a halting voice, she asked, “What did our child do?”
“Darla was to give Ishtar a vision and offer her a way out. Whether she understood the proper use of the machinery, I’m not sure. She transferred material from this realm directly into the Second Realm, something that was only to be done if Ishtar chose to depart the prison.”
Mihai asked, “So what…” Gabrielle cut Mihai off.
“She produced a real gown for the girl, and left it remain with her and she filled the prison cell with fresh straw. When the guards discover it in the morning, well, I don’t know how it will change matters.” Gabrielle raised a hand, shaking a finger. “But that’s not the worst! Funneling her own mental powers through the vision machine, Darla cured the girl of the damage delivered to her body earlier this night, giving the girl’s flesh a glowing vitality uncommon in humans. During this process, Darla linked her mind with Ishtar’s and then she promised to be with the girl to assist her this coming day.”
Mihai finally asked her question. “So what are we supposed to do now? It sounds to me that Darla’s attempt at helping the girl may well add to her woes. The governor is a tyrant, having little respect or concern for anyone other than himself. I had hoped that Ishtar’s beaten condition would lead the man to have pity on her. Now he will likely obsess over her beauty, seeking some way to take her for himself.” Frowning, Mihai added, “If my worst fears are realized, Ishtar will not survive this test without being linked to one of our minds.”
Gabrielle agreed. “And Darla has already made that link. Unless one of us can accomplish the same task, Ishtar will not receive that needed support.”
“But the spirit will be there,” Sirion answered. “She won’t be completely alone.”
“True, true…” Mihai replied, agreeing, turning to Gabrielle. “But from what you’ve learned, we now are dealing with a woman having near perfect beauty. How will the wolves of her world react to such a thing? Indeed, could a good man keep his honor around her if given control over her soul?” She looked back at Sirion, moaning, “The girl’s test was certainly great to begin with. Now it may well be impossible for her to survive it alone, even with all our spirit. Indeed, I think the only way she will succeed is to do something that will make herself ugly in the eyes of her oppressors.” Mihai gripped Gabrielle’s arm and spoke with urgency. “We must make contact with the girl ourselves and link our minds with hers!”
“It’s too late now.” Tzidohn stepped closer as he pointed into the distance. “The element of surprise is gone. That’s what we came to tell you. Gihon and his clowns were not here by accident. They were part of a much bigger hunting party. What our little sister has done did not go unnoticed. Legion has his scouts out searching for the intruder or intruders. The size of the search parties makes me think he feels there are many opponents.” He looked over his shoulder. “The door of opportunity is now closed. We would have to fight our way through at least a company of enemy hosts to get to her.
There are only ten of us here, besides Darla.” He looked at Gabrielle, “Even with your strength, I doubt any of us would survive such a battle.”
Gabrielle slowly lowered her head in defeat. “We have lost. There is nothing we can do now.” Darla would not be counted out so quickly. She began to thrash, pointing toward her head. Gabrielle was apprehensive, but surrendered to Darla’s demands. She again began a waking dream with her. This time it seemed easier and less exhausting, a connection having already been made. Gabrielle soon struggled to sit up. After a moment’s rest, she told the others what Darla requested. “Our child wants us to take her to the hanging cliffs, a promontory some distance from here. She believes with my help she will be able to communicate with Ishtar from there.”
“Why there?” Sirion asked. “Why not here? What’s the difference?”
Interrupting, Mihai answered, “The promontory has a strong energy field, helpful when using mind communication. Plus, the place is mathematically the nearest location to the prison and governor’s palace, making the possibility for a mind link more successful.”
“Not only that,” Depais added, “they know, or soon will know where we are. We were unsuccessful at stopping that screaming meemie. She’s sure to bring Legion down on us. We need to be on the move, and soon!”
Mihai added, “Then we’ll have to make haste. Depais, you and Tzidohn help with Darla. I’ll…”
Gabrielle cut Mihai off, “I’m not moving this child, ‘less it’s back to our ship. She’s half dead, and I’m not going to risk her life on a fool’s hope!”
Sirion piped up, “It was a fool’s hope that sent Darla here alone. We didn’t consider any breakdowns on our end, so never gave her directions should we fail to arrive. I believe she wants to finish her assignment, no matter the cost…”
“You tend your duties, little one!” Gabrielle snapped. “I’ve been given charge of Darla…promised Mother. I will not suffer her loss on a futile whim!”
Sirion countered, “It’s Darla’s wish. She has the ri…”
“That’s enough, now!” Mihai snorted, “This is not the time to…”
“I’m taking her back to the ship! And that’s final!” Gabrielle leaned over Darla and began another healing song.
Sirion muttered on about their dilemma and what they should have done. Gabrielle sat up, scowling, anger growing in her voice. “It might have been better if you had stayed behind, little one. I thought you might learn something here, on your first sojourn into this valley of darkness. I regret our breakdown.” She moaned, “Why, oh why this day?! Why did our engines have to fail on this most important day?!”
Mihai glared at Sirion, her stare telling the woman to remain silent. She then rested a hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder. “Honey, there’s no need to make the decision at this moment.” She looked up and asked Tzidohn, “How much time do you think we have before Legion arrives?” He raised his head as if smelling the breeze. “Oh, I think we’re safe with an hour, maybe a little more.”
Depais offered to return to the ship and get some medical supplies. Mihai watched as the woman and Tzidohn disappeared into the night then looked into the sky. “We have two hours or so before daybreak. Sirion, go get Periste then meet me on the trail. We’ll scout on ahead to see what’s up.”
Sirion hurried away and Mihai turned to Gabrielle. “It’ll be alright, Honey. Mother wouldn’t have approved this mission if she didn’t believe in our success. You do your magic for now. We’ll see what comes of it.”
Gabrielle returned to her healing songs. Mihai met up with Sirion and Periste, and hurried out of the camp. The moon sank behind the hills, filling the surrounding world with blackness. Soon the only sound to be heard was the quiet tune of a healer desperately working her magic.
* * *
Cackles and laughter echoed off the walls and fell on the ears of the prison population, along with occasional smacking sounds, followed by “Not hungry! Not hungry now.” This was too much for many of the prisoners. Not only were most very superstitious, they believed the jailer had brought a demon here to play sport with them.
An uproar grew among the inmates. Many began crying out to their gods in fear and invoking them for protection. Some called down evil on the sergeant, crying out curses that his soul burn forever in torment for bringing this abomination against them.
In frustration, the sergeant shouted at the prisoners to quiet down, telling them there was naught for them to worry about except his wrath. Finally, forgetting his fear, he turned toward the creature and angrily threatened, “Shut up your face! I can’t have a riot in here. If you don’t quiet down, I’ll… I’ll…” The sergeant began to ponder what might become of him if the creature felt itself in danger.
The creature lowered its voice. “Yeesssss?” it suspiciously asked.
The sergeant swallowed hard. “I’ll…I’ll say his name.”
The stinky little creature froze, put its hand up to the opened hood and cried, “Sh!
Sh! Not talk, not talk now. Not loud, must be still.” It crouched, putting both its hands up like rodent paws. “Must be like a mouse…er…er… Will be like a little mouse...a quiet little mouse.”
Having gained some confidence, the sergeant spoke up boldly, wagging his finger.
“When we get there, I don’t want no loud words, neither. Nobody’s to hear what you say. Nobody!”
The little creature could not understand. It asked, troubled, “Nobody?” “Nobody?!”
Somewhat exasperated, the sergeant explained, “Only the man you go see. That fool, Ce…”
The little creature flung its arms about. “Sh! Sh! Not his name! You promised if little child was good. You promised!”
“All right! All right!” the sergeant fumed. “You know what I mean, right?”
The little creature laughed, “Yes! Yes! Only to foolish man…” It threw its hand up in front of its hood. “Sh… Sh… Will be quiet like a mouse… Pretty boys… good, nice boys will not hear little child. Noooo…not hear little child at all.”
“Good!” the sergeant snorted, and then threatened, “And keep it that way, or the guard will stick you with a spear!”
Both men heard a little hiss escape the hood, followed by, “Like a mouse, a little baby mouse. Good child will be quiet, like a mouse.”
On the bottom-most level of the prison, at the end of a musty, putrid-smelling passage, the three came to a large iron door. The only light was from the guard’s lamp, which appeared to gasp for air enough to remain burning. The sergeant took out a large key and slowly turned the rusty lock, its tumblers squealing in contempt at the intruders, finally giving way with a loud crack! It took the combined efforts of both the guard and sergeant to force the heavy iron door on its hinges.
Finally, with audible grunts from the two men, the door gave way, allowing the guard to enter with his lamp. The light fell upon the single occupant in the room beyond.
He sat, motionless, feet firmly secured in massive wooden stocks. The person covered his eyes with a hand, the light momentarily blinding him.
The little creature yipped with delight, “It’s him! It’s him! Master will be so happy with little child. It’s him!”
The sergeant scolded, “Quiet now! You promised to be quiet.”
The creature’s hand popped up in front of its hood, nodding in acknowledgment.
“Sh… Sh…”
The sergeant leaned forward, into the room, calling out to the man, “Fancy that!
You have a visitor, but I don’t think you’ll be much happy about it.”
He motioned for the creature to come forward. “It says its master has some words for you. Do be polite and no screaming.” Shaking a threatening finger at the creature, the sergeant ordered, “Don’t hurt him. You promised. Or else…or else I’ll say his name!”
An angry hiss escaped from under the creature’s hood. As if remembering to be good, it shook its head, promising, “Not hurt him,” extending a bony finger, chuckling,
“for you…for you.” The creature turned away from the sergeant and stared through the doorway. It began its happy little bobbing from side to side, humming some nonsensical tune, followed by, “Like a mouse, a little tiny mouse.”
Satisfied, the sergeant turned to go, ordering the guard to stand watch at the door.
After he departed, the guard cautiously inched his way forward, until he stood just inside the room. Holding his lamp high, he motioned the creature to enter, “I’ll be watching!”
his hollow words an impotent threat.
As it passed him, the creature snarled, its fingers brushing the man’s leg, the guard recoiling in near panic, stopping just short of crying out in fear. The creature swept its hand back in disgust and mumbled something under its breath, then focused its attention on the prisoner, smacking its lips and singing little chants.
Symeon sat on the stony floor, arms behind him, lending support. For six days, his feet had been shackled in stocks, his food and drink scanty at best, and his cuts and bruises untended. Still, his sight was clear and his mind sharp. If this was some trick of the governor, he refused to fall for it. When the noisy little creature was just feet away, he sarcastically asked, making sure the guard would hear, “So, what do you intend to do, eat me?”
The creature put its hand in front of its face, speaking in a hushed voice. “Sh…
Sh… Must be quiet like a mouse. Symeon must be quiet like mouse.”
“What the?!” Symeon cried out.
The guard lifted his lamp and craned his neck. “Hey, there!”
“Sh! Sh!” The creature was urgent. “Must be quiet like mouse, like mouse.”
A dim, flickering glow reflected Symeon’s curiosity.
The creature stepped in close so that its opened hood was only inches from Symeon’s face. “Who do you think would waste their time coming to see the likes of you, especially when you can’t even remember to keep your promised appointments?!”
Symeon’s eyes grew big with surprise as he whispered, “Is that you, Hanna?”
The creature pretended insult. “Who else have you stood up? Of course, it’s me!
What did you think I was, some kind of demon?”
Symeon wrinkled up his nose, shaking his head. “You smell like one. Whew! And I thought I stunk.”
The man reached up and took Hanna’s hand, careful the guard didn’t see. Although happy to see his long-time friend, his concern for her welfare was reflected in his voice.
“It’s too dangerous for you to be here. Why have you taken such a risk?”
“There are many reasons I have come,” Hanna started rummaging under her tattered robe, “to help you, inform you and to warn you.” She glanced up, catching Symeon’s eyes, hoping he didn’t see the pity in hers. “The world has changed outside. Clouds of violence against our people are growing everywhere. They seek to destroy our faith by forcing you to recant yours.”
With some noticeable effort, Hanna pulled out a leather-like flask from under the robe. “Here, drink this. It’s some herb soup.” She apologized, “Sorry, it’s cold, but it was the best I could do. And I’m sorry I stink so. I couldn’t think of any other way to get in to see you.” She looked over her shoulder at the guard, still standing in the door, and growled. The guard quailed, but said nothing. Hanna went back to digging in her robe. “They are afraid of me. They think I’m some kind of witch or demon. It’s amazing what a little flour and stink can do.”
Symeon shook his head and sighed, “The poor, ignorant fools. I feel sorry for them at times. They’re so wrapped up in superstition about the gods, they fear every shadow and every wind.” He took another drink from the flask, grinning with satisfaction. “But it does work out in our favor at times. It’s so good to see you.”
Hanna withdrew some dried figs and pressed fruit. “Here, don’t eat these now.
Later…save them for later.” She retrieved two small loaves of date bread and gave them
to Symeon. “I have little time to tell you many things.” Symeon took another drink, thanking Hanna for her gifts.
The woman gave Symeon a water bottle, telling him to save it also. Taking his hand, she began, “Tomorrow is a big festival day. The emperor’s magistrate is visiting.
They intend to break you in the arena. Already, soldiers have arrested many of our elders. They plan to have them witness you recanting your faith.”
Symeon interrupted, “I trust my God, Hanna. He will provide help to me.” His voice was filled with confidence. “I am prepared to die this day.”
“It won’t be that easy, my friend,” Hanna warned. “They don’t intend to kill you.”
He argued, “Should they choose to torture me to make me confess and recant, I shall not give in. It will be a fool’s attempt on their part.”
Hanna countered that it was not so. “Now listen, please! Two days ago, the governor’s personal guard came to your sister’s house. They took Ishtar away with them.
When your sister complained, one of the soldiers cuffed her with the back of his hand, saying to stay put, because they were returning later for her. We believe they will use your niece to get at you.”
Symeon clenched Hanna’s arm. “They can’t be that cruel! Not even those animals can be that cruel!”
“Stop it, Symeon! You know full well the governor’s men have no souls. The demons pale in comparison to them.” Hanna took the empty flask and put it under her robe. “The guards were overheard talking about Ishtar being given to the dogs if you don’t give up your faith. Now do you see why I had to tell you? You cannot stop what will happen. But could you have withstood surprise and shock of seeing the one you call
‘daughter’ being dragged into the arena? And what would you say when given the choice to save her or keep your faith?”
Symeon bowed his head, tears in his eyes, “No…I don’t know...I don’t know if I can.
She’s only a child. She has cared for me when my own sons despise me. I don’t know...” he groaned. “Your words cast doubt on my faith.”
“You have no choice but to keep your faith!” Hanna was adamant. “If you fail, the governor will send a wave of terror over our people unlike anything we have yet seen.
You are a leader among us. Paul has been sent to prison and may already be dead. There are few of the old ones left. Every day that passes, you become greater in the eyes of the people. You cannot fail! You will not fail!”
Hanna consoled Symeon, wiping away his tears and comforting him with expressions of support. Gradually the rush of emotion passed. Symeon changed the subject. “What of you and your daughters, my dear Hanna? For sure, they will track you down. Can the storm of injustice pass you by? The entire city knows who you are.”
“Do not fear.” Hanna stroked Symeon’s hand. “I have sold our home. After tomorrow, we are leaving Ephesus. I doubt we shall ever return. My late husband’s uncle, Gallen, has come down from the North Country. He is with my two youngest daughters outside the city as we speak. My oldest daughter, Leah, and her husband, Midian, departed Capernaum some time ago and arrived during the past week. They helped me get my things together and are going with us. Gallen suggested we travel beyond Bithynia, cross the straits near the Sea of Marmara, and continue on north with him to the frontier.”
Symeon felt uneasy about the news. “I have been told many stories of the Barbarians on the frontier. Are you sure it is wise to go that far?”
“Symeon, Gallen’s grandfather was one of those Barbarians. My daughters have cousins residing among them.” Hanna explained, “Look, the frontier is dangerous to the legions because they are so heartless and cruel. They rape and plunder for fun and profit.
Most of the captives brought here as slaves or sold to the arenas are innocents kidnapped from their homes. Countless atrocities are committed against the peaceful border towns or even within the territory itself. It is little wonder the north people seek revenge when opportunity affords.”
She gently squeezed his hand. “As a wedding present, James gave his son some of his own father’s carpentry tools. Midian is a skilled carpenter, too, just like his father and grandfather, and the north people will pleasantly accept his craft. Leah is almost three months’ pregnant. If we do not leave now, she will not be able to come with us. Gallen has relatives living in Thrace. We will be able to winter there and then move on in the spring.”
Thinking of his old friend, Symeon asked, “How is James?”
Hanna lowered her head. “His health is bad, Symeon. Leah wonders if he will survive the winter. The death of his wife and mother in the same year took so much out of him. You remember how he adored them so.”
“Yes,” Symeon sighed, recalling, “I remember watching him, eyes all aglow, while his mother, Mary, described her early years, how the family had to flee from home, the strange visitors giving them all that money, even Anna’s prophecy regarding his oldest brother.” He waxed romantic, “And Alba’s eyes could hypnotize anyone, and her smile...” Sadness grew in his voice. “When the fever took her, something inside James…inside all of us died. He put himself into the work of building up the friends, but his health has continued to decline from that time on. I would so much love to see him once more.”
Hanna agreed. “If he had been better, James would have journeyed here with the children.” She went on to relate the current conditions of Symeon’s hometown. “It’s bad in Capernaum, real bad. The Zealots have overrun the countryside, forcing the people to join the resistance or be burned out, sometimes even murdered. I was told that the emperor is raising a large army to retake the territory. Most of the friends have left or are leaving. Those who have family elsewhere are traveling to join them.” For but a moment, Hanna allowed her personal distress to slip into the conversation. “The world has turned upside down. What the future holds for us is anybody’s guess. I hope and pray that things will work out in the end.”
“They will, they will.” Symeon smiled, attempting to boost Hanna’s morale. “Look, this will all be over soon. Then you and I can be reunited. I have so many things to say to you.”
Hanna closed her eyes as tears fell, “May it be so. May it be so...”