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The Light of Shagur Vu
Lurak focused on the chanting voice. Nevok, the Shaman of the Vutak, was reaching the end of the day long ritual. Lurak could feel the pain of the tattoo fading.
“Shagur Vu! Shagur Vu Lurak!" Nevok's voice was weakening with the light of Shagur Vu. The Beast would once again fall upon the Clan of the Vutak. Lurak felt the old one again brush his hand against Lurak's shaved head. Lurak could once again smell the strange mix of ochre and dayflower pollen. The old man paused. Lurak opened his eyes to the Firelight that warmed the cave. He knew what would happen next. He had aided the old one in this ritual when Shagur Vu Urgar had given of his life that the Vutak might survive. Now it would be his turn, this beast of the un-living world would come soon. Lurak watched the young boy approach with the claw of Shagur Vu. This gift of the most powerful spirit had been found embedded in the now sacred Usak tree that shaded the cave entrance. Found in full view of the fire mountain where only Shagur Vu nests during the darkness
of Shoka Ne'S coming.
His young replacement nervously lowered the claw of
Shagur Vu into Lurak’s open hands. It was ice cold, brought forth from the Deepest of the sacred caves.
Nevok began the final words.
"Grr- Su Sau Ti Shagur Vu!" The old man released his
Neck-beads as the claw glowed with an infusion of the light and strength of Shagur Vu. When it was over Nevok collapsed against the wall of the cave.
Lurak stood. The claw of Shagur Vu was a weight in his hand.
"Tao Ki Sura Shagur Vu." Lurak focused on the claw for a moment. Screams came from the tribal living areas.
Nevok looked up. It was here.
"Ne Ge!" Nevok was stricken with fear. Lurak put his hand on the old man's face.
"Sha Ki Tao Sura Su." Lurak moved quickly along the tunnel. This would be it. More screams. Lurak was running on the wet stone of the tunnel. His nand gripped tighter on the claw of Shagur Vu. Another turn in the tunnel and the fluorescent glow of moss on the walls gave way to pictures in ochre and blood lit by some distant light. Lurak emerged into the central gallery. The tallow lamps burned in their oil pits. The pictures of everything the Vutak had achieved. Every moment. Every deed. It would all be lost if he failed against this creature of darkness. Women and children were fleeing towards him. The struggle for survival was at it's most intense. The Women paused and huddled against the wall of the cave, dragging the children to the ground. They whispered to the children to look at the dirt and rock while he passed them by. No one looked up. Lurak ran on. Screams came again from the main lair. This time more primal, tainted with the darkness of Shoka Ni. Lurak could feel the strength of Shagur Vu pounding in his chest. The strength flowed into his limbs as he moved faster through the central gallery towards the c1 an' s lai r.
A warrior's scream ended with a bone shattering snap that echoed its terror into the cave network.
Lurak emerged into the lair. His foe was everything the
darkness of Shoka Ni represented. It towered twice the
leigbt of the tallest warrior. It's body a powerhouse of
strength. Its hideous face twisted and distorted in the
Firelight of those few warriors that remained to hold it at bay.
Lurak looked again at the creature's face. There was
something familiar. A shadow trick. Lurak closed on the
beast that held half a warrior in each hand. It flailed
into the remaining men with the upper half of he who had
Once been Shatuk.
Lurak could not mourn the loss of his brother.
"Sa! Sura Ti Shagur Vu." At this, the other warriors
broke and retreated from the creature, moving past Lurak
without a look.
Lurak could see it now. The monstrosity wore a mask that obscured its true face. Lurak looked at the facial tattoos. The stretched hide mask had once been Shagur Vu
Urgar.
Lurak closed on the monstrosity. His grip on the claw of
Shagur Vu had tightened to where it cut into the palm of his hand. Blood was slowly coating the claw.
Fhe beast of Shoka Ni hurled the upper half of Shatuk at
Lurak. The weight and speed of the corpse spun Lurak aside.
It moved quickly. So did Lurak. The claw of Shagur Vu tore into the creature's flesh. The Beast turned quickly with the legs of Shatuk, knocking Lurak through a cooking fire.
Lurak rolled to his feet and screamed with anger. Mocking him with laughter, the monster tore the lower remnants of Shatuk in two.
Slow with a leg in each hand, it again converged on
Lurak.
Lurak dove low into the flames of the cooking fire and emerged between the creature's legs where he stabbed into the flesh of the great beast. It roared with burning pain. The claw of Shagur Vu ripped flesh and sprayed the dark ichor that was the monster's blood. The monstrosity sprayed Lurak with its urine. The foulness of the creature's scent assailed Lurak. Lurak rolled further to emerge behind his enemy. Lurak stood and turned to be met with the bludgeoning strike of a gory limb.
First one leg and then the next hammered against him until he succumbed to the pain and passed out for but a moment. It was enough.
Lurak was awakened by the agony of an arm being torn away at the elbow. The clawed hand around his neck crushed the scream from him. The monster chewed at the freed arm with a renewed hunger. The pain was overwhelming. Choking for air, Lurak could still feel the claw grasped in his remaining hand.
Shagur Vu Lurak roared with defiance. The remaining arm,
tight about the claw of Shagur Vu, drove upwards between
them with the last of its strength. Shagur Vu Lurak
pushed the point up into the throat of the beast of
Shoka Ni and deep into the monster's brain.
The monster released its grip on Lurak and fell back,
grasping at the claw.
Lurak seized on the opportunity and fumbled about for a
stone the size of his hand. He found one.
"Shagur Vu!" screamed Shagur Vu Lurak as he swung
upwards with the stone and hammered the claw of Shagur
Vu even deeper into the brain of his enemy. The stump of
his arm was spraying precious lifeblood.
The monstrous corpse fell forward towards Lurak and he
struggled to avoid being crushed by its weight.
Lurak was weak now. He struggled towards the cook fire.
He had one chance to live.
Lurak forced the bleeding stump into the fire and seared the end against a hot stone. He screamed with pain and
Fell back from the fire. It still bled. Again he forced the arm into the fire, burying it in the red coals.
Shagur Vu Lurak coughed up blood as he fumbled for the pouch of powdered leaves and roots that the old man had given him. Lurak opened the medicine bundle and pushed
the burned stump into the mix. With his remaining hand
he wound a leather binding strap up the remaining length
of his arm, around his neck, and then down again to tie
off on the pouch.
Shagur Vu Lurak propped up against a pile of hides and
rested. It would be a while before the others returned
to investigate.
Lurak was dozing in the firelight when Nevok emerged from the central gallery surrounded by the few remaining warriors of the tribe. Lurak struggled to sit up.
Only the old man approached him.
Nevok stared at the bloody form that was struggling upright. Nevok ordered the warriors to drag the monstrous Corpse from the cave.
Nevok moved to help Lurak to his feet. This was the most difficult part of the task. Lurak didn't speak. He knew
what the custom required. The taboos had to be enforced
for the survival of the tribe.
Well outside the entrance to the cave network, wood was
gathered. The monstrous corpse piled on top and more
wood added.
The cremation fire burned slowly as heat built in the heavier wood.
The fire burned into the night and into the next day.
Shagur Vu Lurak and the old shaman choked on the foul
smoke of the pyre. It was night again when the smoke
was no longer the foul stench of the smoldering corpse.
Flesh had boiled away to reveal bone, which in turn
rumbled under the intense heat. The beast would soon be
gone.
The fire was no longer the raging inferno that it had
Become. Slowly the strength of Shagur Vu left the fire
and began to dissipate.
Lurak thought of his brother Shatuk. The pain welled up
in his chest.
"Fa Amun Shatuk" whispered Lurak to the fire.
Fire was replaced by ash and glowing embers.
Lurak watched the light of the coals and thought of the
many times in his child years that he had stared into
the embers of such a fire.
There in the ash and warm coals was the claw of Shagur
Vu. The old man pulled it free of the fire remains.
Nevok looked up from the ashes of the beast and stared
at Shagur Vu Lurak.
"Tae Usal Shagur Vu!" voiced the old Shaman. He waved
the claw menacingly at Shagur Vu Lurak.
Shagur Vu Lurak was now a thing of the spirit world.
The old man turned his back on Lurak and walked into the
cave to join the rest of the tribe. The spirit thing
that was once named Shagur Vu Lurak of the Vutak Clan
moved slowly out into the darkness of Shoka Ni.
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The Teloren Duchy Murders
Korva kneeled beside the corpse of Lady Tani. The bronze dirk protruding from her back was jammed tightly between two ribs. Her manservant, Burdon stood silently with a grim look on his face. Korva looked up.
'Was anything taken?'
Burdon surveyed the bronze archives. The hall was in ruins.
'There were a few engraved totems from the Second Skaven Bronze period. Fairly crude pieces.' The old dwarf investigator ran his fingers across the blood covered marble floor. It was starting to dry out.
'Their value?' No answer.
Korva looked up at the manservant. He was downcast with grief.
'Oh. My apologies Burdon, but please, their value?' Burdon shook his head.
'She, I mean the Lady Tani, traded a pack horse for them.'
'We must assume that their value was enough to kill
for.' Korva placed his hand on the corpse's neck and pulled at the weapon hilt. A slight twist, a crack of ribs, and the blade worked free. Blood dripped slowly from the weapon.
'And this?' Korva turned the weapon in his hand. Burdon, nauseated, looked away.
It's a bronze piece from the later Bretonnian iron period. Her Ladyship paid seventeen bars of trade silver for it.'
Korva scratched at his beard.
Bronze engravings of the Skaven. Korva sighed, getting to his feet. His left knee was giving him pain. Korva handed the dirk to Burdon and cleaned his hands on his sweat rag.
'It's never gold and jewels any more, is it?' Korva moved down the hall. Burdon followed slowly behind him.
'I'll need the names of every visitor for the last month, a list of servants, and the trader who sold the engravings to her ladyship. Actually, make that a full list of the people she bought from.' Burdon nodded.
Do you have full descriptions of the missing pieces?' Burdon nodded.
'Yes. Her ladyship had them catalogued. I will send them to your residence immediately, Master Korva.'
'Good. I'll see myself out.' Korva exited through the main doors. The mortician had arrived with the burial cask.
'Master Korva,' acknowledged the mortician. Korva nodded in reply.
'Mortician Urthalt, running late I see.'
'Business has been busy as of late, Master Korva. With plague, wars, and now this. I'm actually ahead this year.'
Korva climbed onto his low cart and drove his mule back towards town.
The cart passed through the town gates, Skirted the myriad alehouses of trader's way, past 'The Broken Leg Inn' and 'The Violated Mule Tavern'.
'Master Korva!' It was initiate Burtram from the zhapel of Westriding. His little legs hurrying to carry n'm onwards.
'Yes young Burtram, how can I help you today?' Probably wanted me to appraise the candlestick holders for future reference. The little hobbit was just like 11 s dad.
'It's Father Cassius...' A pause to catch his breath.
'Yes lad?' Korva wondered at the excitement.
'Father Cassius has been murdered.'
And to think I used to get tired of the lack of action this town had to offer.
'Hop in lad.' Korva pulled him aboard. Korva turned the cart and mule down the lane and pushed Dn towards the church.
'Well lad, what happened?'
'It was terrible. I found him... on the vestry floor with the letter opener driven through his chest. It was terrible Master Korva, just terrible.'
It usually is lad. Korva reached into the back of the cart for his pewter flask of home brewed mead.
'Drink this, it will help calm your nerves.' The young Hobbit took a heavy swig from the flask and started coughing.
'What is this? It's terrible.' Burtram eyed the evil brew with distrust.
'My home brewed mead. Your dad always enjoyed it.'
'Really? My dad always had a funny attitude about vhat was drinkable, or so my mum always said.' He returned the flask to Korva.
'Probably true.' Korva took a sniff, replaced the cork and tossed the flask in the back of the cart.
Father Cassius lay face up. His face wracked by the oddest look. It was as though he was not expecting to be killed.
Korva pulled the Letter opener free. Blood covered the Floor.
'Killed this early morning by the look of it.' Korva looked at the young hobbit, then at the engraved bronze bowl on the shelf behind him. The hobbit tried to follow Korva's view.
'Father Cassius wasn't a collector of bronze pieces by any chance?' Young Burtram looked around the room.
'Um, actually, now you mention it, yes.' 'Is there anything missing? Well?' Korva stepped across the body towards Burtram.
'Well, there were a number of bronze panels, odd scratched writing all over them.'
Korva looked over the scrolled rubbings and sketches, There was nothing here. The names of guests were a meaningless parade of the poor Aristocrats that lived in the small Duchy. A Merchant had taken clay pressings of the plates. Long returned to the capital. The prospector presented the only true lead. This had to be investigated.
The journey out through the hills took a day. According to Burden's notes, the prospector who had sold the Skaven engravings, was encamped somewhere out in the Black hills. A bad place to be alone. Here, practically in the ragged edge of the Empire. Nothing much to see out here.
'Old coot's probably having the time of his life.'
Korva stared the prospector in the eye. At least, what was left of his eye. The stench of death was strong in the prospector's burnt out camp. Korva looked the gnome's remains over again. The prospector had been crucified on a large tree. The corpse was a week old at least. The few remains indicated that he had been tortured to death by a hot iron poker. The iron fire poker at his feet said everything.
'You old fool. What did you get yourself into?' Korva shook his head and walked away. This whole case was starting to smell bad.
Leone Wiffil the Third polished the bronze plates with the fine cloth of lamb's wool. Trusting such a task to the servants was, of course, out of the question.
'Excuse me, your lordship, but there's an old Dwarf it the front doors. Fellow absolutely refuses to use the service entrance. He was quite rude about it in fact.' fhe manservant was almost annoyed by it. 'What does he want?' Lord Wiffil focused on the task at land.
'He wants to speak to you about your bronze collection. He mentioned something about the murder of Lady Tani.'
'Ah. Send the fellow away. I don't have time to discuss such things.'
'Of course my lord.' The manservant turned and left.
These lords were all the same, Never interested in giving you the time of day until they needed you. Korva watched the manor from the street. His old mule and tired cart stood in the shadow of the great trees of the wide, cobblestone lane. Korva watched as the burglar made his entrance. This case would be solved without the assistance of Lord Wiffil.
A long moment of silence in the scheme of things and the crime was complete.
Korva watched as Arlo the burglar climbed down the side of the manor house with the heavy saddlebags. With keen stealth, he retrieved his horse from the shelter of the
shadowy hedge, and then led the animal to the lane.
Counting the beast, he headed away to the eastern gate of the town.
Korva followed at a distance, his newly greased axles providing some of the required stealth to remain undetected.
The thief rode out into the darkness of the countryside leaving the town behind.
'That's right son, lead me to the boss.' Korva pursued his quarry at a safe distance.
Growing ever weary, as farms fell away to the distant horizon, Korva struggled to stay awake. The cart rode the edge of the trail to commandeer as much shadow and coverage as possible.
Night was heavy as the thief halted near an ancient stone circle. Korva pulled the mule in on a low gravel wash behind a ridge.
Korva, spyglass in hand, dropped to the gravel. His knee
jarred. Korva grunted lightly as the pain flared. The old dwarf struggled up the gravel wash and peeked over the rim at the scene below. There beneath the trees,
Arlo waited. In a swift movement, a cloaked figure entered from the trees.
'You're late, Aghrin.' Arlo dropped the saddlebags it the cloaked one's feet. Aghrin pulled back the hood, Korva easily recognized the new participant as a dark elf.
It just got interesting. Korva considered the crossbow he had left back in the cart. No chance of moving unnoticed.
'Are you sure you have every piece of it?' asked the dark haired elf.
'All twelve pieces, exactly as you described them.' Arlo paused.
'The cost was great. I expect to be compensated greatly.'
'You will.'
Below, in the shadow of the stones, Arlo experienced the afterlife. The elf freed his dagger and drained the thief's blood into a stone bowl from beneath his cloak. Nasty business you're in. Korva settled in for a long wait as the elf began to chant. Huddled silently on the low ridge, His spyglass took in the full view of the stone circle. The dark elf chanted for an hour. Eventually, as the moon waned to full darkness, the shadows of starlight stirred. There, in the center of the circle, stood a large shadowy individual, identification would be impossible in such darkness, the dark elf spoke.
'I have them, my lord. As agreed.' The dark elf handed over the two heavy saddlebags. The shadow handed over a large gemstone in return.
'Lord? This is only half the agreed payment. I don't understand.'
The tall shadow turned and stared at the low ridge. The dark elf followed the dark one's direction of gaze.
'...I will dispose of the spy immediately.' The dark elf retrieved a sword from the corpse of his murdered thief and hurried towards the ridge. The shadows twisted in the stone circle and the large creature left is it had arrived.
Damn. Been spotted. Korva slid back down the gravel surface dropping his trusty spyglass as he went. His crossbow was on the mule cart at the base of the gravel wash. The dark elf was moving fast. This was going to be close.
Korva rode the loose gravel for most of the way to the bottom. The elf cleared the ridge, sword in hand.
'Bastard Dwarf, I'm going to make you pay for this.'
Korva slammed hard against the wheel of the cart. His knee was burning with pain. The elf was almost on him. Korva pulled his crossbow from the cart. The quarrel fell from the notch. Not now.
'Ha. I have you now dwarf.' The elf was laughing as he swung the sword in towards Korva's ribs. Korva jerked the empty crossbow up between them and hard against the elf's neck, he fired dry.
The bow exploded forward against the elf's neck. The sword fell from the dark one's grip as it bit into Korva's side. The elf clutched at his throat, struggling for breath. Korva hammered him backwards with the remains of the crossbow stock.
Korva cast the wooden stock aside and pushed away the pain as he retrieved the sword. The elf was still sprawled on the gravel.
Korva swung once and then a second time. The blade hewed off the elf's head with a second blow.
'No, You don't.' mumbled Korva. Korva sat back against the wheel of the cart, his knee and side burning with pain. It was then he saw it. The large gem given In payment to the dark elf was glowing with a great crimson light as It sat In a pool of the dark elf's blood. His mind fell into the crimson darkness of sleep.
Sunlight and the hot smells of late morning roused Korva. The pain was gone from his knee and side. As was the blood, and the gemstone. The dark elf was a dried husk of skin and bone.
'Damn.' Lost the evidence. Nothing left but to check the stone circle and the body of the thief, Korva climbed to his feet, sword In hand. He moved up the gravel wash to retrieve his dropped spyglass. The mule had pulled the cart across the road to a patch of grass to feed. Korva climbed aboard the cart with a renewed vigor. Reigns In hand, he guided the mule around the hill and towards the circle of old stones. The body of the thief was still lying on the ground. His horse, by the look of the tracks, had wandered off to look for its true owner. A search of the stone circle found the prints of something very large and heavy.
A Skink.
What would a 'lizard' want with the crude bronze engravings of the rat folk? They had been of such value to employ a dark elf to oversee collection, but then to pay him with some large gemstone of an obscure magical nature?
He returned to the cart.
Investigator Korva climbed aboard old the cart.
I must be a terrible sight.
Korva pulled a mirror from his satchel. His face covered in dirt and blood. The grey hairs had been replaced by a youthful dark-red. Korva shook his head and chuckled.
'Damn elf blood makes me look twenty years younger.' Time to go home and have a bath. The pieces of this puzzle will fit together eventually,
Above the world, the heavens continued their slow movement towards the coming darkness.
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The Far Sea
The young prince sat uncomfortably on the ibis feather pillow. It was affording him no protection from the hard stone floor of the palace. This room without windows had long been the apartment of Huatepec, high priest of Ra. Ramses looked again at the strange metal flower that gave light. He thought back to the death of his brother, Struck down as he had stepped from the chariot of beaten gold. The prince turned back to the high priest.
'The death of your brother was to be expected, my prince,' said Huatepec.
'The metal it was built from, the sacred metal of Ra, you see.'
'Why?' asked Ramses.
The old priest struggled with a large object of odd manufacture, moving it to the table.
'See here,' said Huatepec.
The young prince rose and moved to gaze upon the strange thing. There, on close inspection, Ramses found that the object was made of metal, silver in nature. It had not the feel of silver and consisted of many sheets, beaten to perfection in shape and thickness yet there were no indications that it had ever been beaten. The first was carved in an array of pictures that showed no work of carving. Some images he had seen carved on temple walls yet others were unfamiliar to him.
'What is this?' asked Ramses. The old priest lifted aside the first four metal sheets.
'These are the workings of Ra. Behold!' Huatepec pointed to an image. It almost resembled a djed.
'It looks like a djed,' said Ramses.
'Yes. You are correct, my prince,' said Huatepec.
'The djed is marked with the two main symbols of Ra, indicating its manufacture; and Set, indicating that it nay invite death if handled without the proper tools,' Huatepec paused.
'Here, the small, third symbol indicates that the panels may only be handled safely by reaching through the metal ankh while wearing sandals.' The priest waited for the boy to gain full view of it. 'How does the metal kill?' asked Ramses.
'The light of Ra gives it a power. The gods did not pass on the true nature of the power. Only that it is used with care. '
'You see the great panels of the djed are separated from the earth by these stacked pots are made from a fired clay and encased in molten sand.'
'Just as the bubble and small djed in the light-flower?' asked Ramses.
'Yes,' answered Huatepec.
'The difference is that while the large djed takes it's power from Ra, the clay pot beneath the light-flower contains a combination of two metals which is suspended in a liquid.'
, 'Then they are a different power?' Ramses struggled with the thought.
'No. They are the same energies. The energy is life.'
The priest moved the sheet to reveal the next. The picture was of the dead being passed beneath a djed.
'Here, when people have died, we link them to the earth and the djed at that place where the heart is. Sometimes it is possible to give back the energy of life to the body that has none.' Huatepec paused.
'Where ever the sun shines, there is life,' he spoke softly.
The young prince amazed at the prospect of giving life to the dead.
'What about my brother?' asked the Prince.
'Yes. We did this on the day of his death but he was beyond restoration. Perhaps he had been without the energy of life too long.' Huatepec moved the sheet aside.
'Now we begin. This section describes the island of Atlan across the sea where the gods did dwell. They knew of this land and a great land in the west. Their power reached across the world. They made ships to sail the leavens and flew as the bird flew' the priest trailed off.
'There. Do you see the Symbol of Ra in alignment with these others?' asked Huatepec.
'Yes. What does it mean?'
'They mark an alignment of the heavens that occurred long ago.' Huatepec reached for a bowl of sand.
'Understand that each grain marks the time that the Nile floods and the growing season begins.' Huatepec withdrew fifteen grains from the bowl and placed them in the prince's hand.
'You have lived for this many seasons,' said the high priest as he returned the grains to the bowl.
'Now we continue.' the prince stared at the bowl of sand.
'The gods, of whom you are descended, ruled with great power for things that are now forgotten were known as you know of the horse and chariot.'
'What things?' queried Ramses.
'The light-flower, the djed, restoring life, the secret of flight you must learn to listen my prince.
Your father has expressed these very same concerns about you. '
'Now there arose a degenerate culture in the east who sought to rival the power of the gods. The gods wielded the weapon of power. Thrown from the flying ships, it would destroy whole cities in a storm of fire and create great sickness in a rain of ash.'
'Investigations by the merchant classes have revealed that these people would bathe in a river to wash off the poisoned ash. This bathing in rivers has become a ritual of religion within the remnants of their culture.'
'Then the gods failed to destroy them,' said Ramses.
'No my Prince. The gods destroyed what they had become in the hope that it would show them the true path to enlightenment. They, being a degenerate culture, lave failed to achieve the expectations of the gods.'
'The rule of the gods reached far into the east and then cataclysm struck the realm of the gods and it was swallowed by the sea. The gods ascended to the heavens while the realm of the gods was lost to the few who remained.'
'So there is nothing left but these memories?' asked Ramses.
'No. There are ruins in some places, and it is said that some escaped destruction and journeyed to the lands in the west,' ended Huatepec.
'Now my prince, you must return to the learning of numbers.'
Ramses slid aside the last sheet of metal. There, a script and an image of a snake with wings.
'Huatepec? What does this say?' asked Ramses. The old priest turned and spoke softly.
'This is the beginning of the gods before they knew they were gods. They worshiped beautiful black snakes with black feather wings which, in flight, would reveal all the colours of the world. Realizing that they were gods, they slew the false gods, destroying all trace.'
'Why did they destroy them?' asked Ramses.
'To be free,' whispered Huatepec, returning the metal sheets to their place.
'Now my prince, numbers'. Ramses struggled again with the Ibis feather pillow.
'Huatepec,' said Ramses.
'Yes my prince?' answered the priest.
'One day we must cross the far sea and reclaim the places of the gods.'
‘Yes my prince. One day.’ Replied Huatepec, as he counted out a number of stones from a bowl.
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Rowan's Weekend
Rowan stalked the night-shrouded street with a new purpose. The black eye he had gained in a tavern brawl earlier in the evening was still causing him pain.
'Never again...' The hangover from his night of indulgence was entering one of the painful stages. Rowan crushed his eye as he moved to hold his aching head giving a yelp of the pain in the process. How many tankards had he put back? He couldn't remember. The pain was terrible. He remembered how many.
The assassin on the roof across the street fired his crossbow. Rowan stumbled drunkenly and fell to his Knees. The thug in the alleyway was not expecting to be struck in the heart by a crossbow bolt, the assassin, maneuvering on the icy roof shingles for that second shot, slid at the worst possible moment taking a quarrel in the chest. As both corpses ate gravel, Rowan surged up and staggered onward in to the dark.
'Bloody drunks, Can't hold their liquor...
Rowan stumbled into another tavern, stepping over the various unconscious patrons lying in the doorway. His cry for more of the stronger stuff and a quick accusation that the rest was watered dog piss revitalized a group of brawling tavern-goers. Rowan's tavern crawl ended in the early hours of the morning after extended visits to six more taverns and a number of fatally bungled mugging attempts. The locals were showing a severe lack of ability in holding their drink.
The Sun was just rising as Rowan stumbled in through the open doorway of an old wooden structure that seemed a bit different from the rest of this termite riddled shantytown. Mrs Ketlan's boarding house was a flyspeck of purity in the western quarter of a cesspool of a city. Mrs Ketlan was a stalwart, swarthy, raven-haired wench in her mid forties. So she wasn't one of the best looking women in the city let alone the cosmos. Actually she was close to demonically ugly however, in his pissed state Rowan felt like committing suicide and gave her behind a quick slap of approval. The meat cleaver spun swiftly from her hand as Rowan dove for the safe side of the hallway. The thug hiding in the shadows across the street checked twice to be sure that his vitals were intact. The large cleaver had shaved hair from his inner thigh. Guthrie the knife dropped his crossbow and vowed to leave the city. He couldn't take this kind of stress any more. At the height of his reform a pair of muggers jumped him. They stole his crossbow.
Mrs Ketlan cornered rowan in the stairway.
'Now where in the bloody hell have you been my boy? Out at some orgy no doubt, and you're drunk.' She gave him a clip behind the ear.
'Bloody sorcerers... never should be aloud in the city. Cause nothing but trouble.1 Rowan was a little hard of hearing as he stumbled up the stairs, fumbled with the lock and fell through the doorway into his room.
Rowan had no realistic idea of how long he had slept but the sun was casting the usual red pigment to the air so he assumed it was evening. Odd thing was that it made the room look cleaner.
'This isn't my bloody room!' He was right. The door slammed open and there, shrouded in a veil of light stood Janna Murell, light glistening of her raven hair and naked tattoo covered body. This defiantly complimented the blood dripping from her hands and mouth. How flamboyant of her.
'Rowan. You once said you loved me.' Her hair cascaded across her shoulders with a life of its own.
'Rowan,' her voice took a colder tone. Every chunk of ice within a hundred leagues felt a severe desire for a warm blanket and a cup of hot tea.
'If you truly love me, then join me and fight for the dark mage. If not, you can die.' A sudden chill ran down Rowan's spine. He suddenly realized that he was as naked as the lady in front of him. He lifted the blanket from the bed and cloaked him self in it.
Its like this Janna. No chance.' Rowan threw himself out the second storey window. The glass panes exploded into a thousand shards. Rowan fell to the street in a cloud of debris shattering his left arm as ie hit ground.
As he struggled to his feet, Janna emerged onto the street.
'Thus you have made your choice Rowan, and thus you must die.' Her hair swirled and waved with energy. She lifted her hands and the world around them fell apart. A shadow fiend stepped from the darkest recesses of the street. Deciding that he had one course of action, Rowan rushed Janna.
'Kill him!' Rowan struck with speed and strength. The swift blow to her head and she collapsed to the ground. The shadow continued to advance.
'Oh s~$$! I'm going to die.' Rowan plunged down an insignificant lane only to find it was a dead end. He lost all grip on reality as the fiend advanced down the alleyway in pursuit. The only thought on this creature's
mind was food. Rowan unleashed with a volley of magic.
The volley resulted a flash of light and a loud bang.
For some reason Rowan was now sitting in a pool of muddy water covered in the incinerated remains of what had been a blanket.
Rowan struggled to his feet, only to notice that he was under the watchful scrutiny of two well-attired young ladies of the upper classes.
The first fainted while the second screamed.
'Guards!' Four tall professionals emerged from the house with their weapons drawn. The young lady on the ground roused momentarily by the summons glimpsed once again at the rag-covered form that was Rowan and fainted.
'Oh do stop that Elanora, we know you do it for the attention.'
Elanora lifted her head from the ground and gave her sister a sour look of disappointment. She struggled to stand in her heavy dress, brushing furiously at a stain.
'If you ladles don't mind, I think it might be appropriate to acquire some clothing.1 Rowan was struggling to maintain his modesty behind a shrub of poor foliage. His arm was hurting again. The lady in authority nodded to a guard who quickly retreated to the house.
'Are you some rogue who ravages young maidens? Elanora's line of enquiry earned her a flick to her ear, which caused her to yelp in pain.
'Ouch! Cassandra, what did you do that for?' Cassandra pointed at the house and Elanora, after a last inspection of Rowan's partially concealed form, complied with instructions.
The guard returned with an off white robe which he handed to Cassandra. It took a while for Rowan to convince the lady present to look in another direction as he shed the rags he was covered in and pulled on the robe. Partially satisfied, Cassandra shifted into interrogation mode.
'All right, now just who are you and what were you doing on these premises in such an ill clad manor?' Rowan drew up a quick excuse of semi plausibility and then boldly lied.
'Well there I was, just minding me own business when boom, the building explodes and wham, there I is sitting shocked by the experience and totally naked in the dirt as it were. It came as a complete surprise.’
The shadow struggled to move as the light dissipated into the evening. The fiend looked about for its prey. gone. It examined the wall and jerked back. The light from a burning torch gave it pain. Prey was there. Others were there too. The fiend focused on the wall and slowly pushed through the gaps in the mortar, exiting into the garden, Rowan cried a warning.
'Run for your lives!' The crowd broke for the house but the fiend was already upon them rending and tearing it the guards as though they had the consistency of smoke. Light and fire burst forth from Rowan's hands and the shadow fell away into the nothingness as light hammered at it. The sky, the very air had exploded with the fury of a sun, lighting up the city. Cassandra's lily-white skin had emerged from the exchange with a full body tan that reached beyond the dense layers of her gown. She struggled to climb to her feet as Rowan moved to provide her with some assistance.
'My apologies, spur of the moment action. Hope you are not injured.' Cassandra fainted.
Cassandra woke with a sudden feeling of shock. She touched her singed hair. Then she noticed Rowan, his broken arm had been set and strapped.
'You! Wizard.’ Cassandra gritted her teeth and struck Rowan's arm with a forceful blow, which caused him to wail with pain.
'And stop whining you pathetic excuse for a magician. You have brought death and destruction to this
Household. Cassandra stumbled. The evening's combat had burnt the heels from her boots.
'My boots! You destroyed MY BOOTS! You wheezily little excuse for a man, no one stuffs about with the Winterdors. Do you understand me?' Her yell was a tyrannical screech. Elanora who had just entered the room, halted in stunned silence. Rowan revealed a face 3f twisted pain. Elanora fled the room before she was discovered.
It was a while before the noise of conflict vanished from the guest bedroom and Elanora, curious as to the reason behind the peace, penetrated the silent room. Cassandra was sitting on the bed, holding a glowing rose. She was smiling. The wizard was nowhere to be found.
'He's a wonderful wizard. Gave me this, kissed me, and flew away. Wonderful. Did I tell you that?' Outside, the sound of something heavy falling from a great height followed by a flurry of harsh words echoed towards the window.
Cassandra sighed, got up from the bed and walked out the door with the rose. Elanora rushed to the window and looked out at the night-shrouded grounds. Rowan crawled out of a destroyed hedge and returned to owl form, flying on into the night.
'Aw, how come I miss out on the nice ones? And he's a wizard. It isn't fair.' Greatly disappointed, Elanora slammed the shutters closed and left the room in a sulk.
Rowan shifted into human form as he reached the alleyway behind the Red Griffon tavern. This spooked a couple of muggers who ran out into the street. A squad of the city watch, a pack of thugs and murderers themselves, fell upon the duo. The skirmish finished quickly as the watch exited the dispute with a hand full of silver, several pair of boots and some above average clothing. The muggers didn't complain as a stray mongrel chose to believe itself upon their persons. The watch moved on. Rowan entered through the side door. The roof was low and the taproom was thick with a smoke that made Rowan's
eyes water with pain. As taverns went, this crowd was the vilest pack of vermin he had the misfortune to meet. A tall fellow in a corner was speaking.
'Bernardo, Tonight's brew is the best I've tasted in months. What happened? You steal it from the rich quarter?' An ugly brute behind the bar spoke out across the gloom.
'No. Last night I got drunk and pissed in the Darrel.' A number of patrons moaned like sick drunks.
'Well, It certainly improved the flavour.' The Fellow in the corner took another drink of his mug. Others laughed and drank up.
Rowan strolled to the bar and slapped a gold mark on the counter. That would get him the good stuff until he couldn't drink without it being poured down his throat by the pink rabbit that stalked the edge of every drunk's mind. The large mug of ale he was handed was busy going through some unknown chemical reaction. Unidentifiable chunks were surfacing and sticking to the edge. One chunk in particular had sprouted legs and was attempting to climb out. Rowan took a long hard drink and slipped off his bench seat. Strong brew. He drank what was left, sifting fungus between his teeth as he went.
'So Bernardo! How are you on this droll evening?’ He quickly looked at the pink bunny that laughed at him from the corner of the room. Big bastard. Someone will get you yet.
'Fine noble sire.' Bernardo dropped into a whisper. Janna was in earlier. Looking for you she was.'
'Ah. Thought she might. I'd best be on the lookout for her and her associates.' Rowan glanced about the taproom with suspicion. There in the haze filled corner a stranger in heavy black robes appeared to be looking in the direction of the bar.
'Yes. That one showed up just after Janna left. Me thinks he is watching for you my friend.' Bernardo poured ale and passed it to Rowan.
'Take a look at his face will you.' Rowan reached into his robe and touched the amulet about his neck. It
was warm to the touch. He concentrated on the stranger in the corner.
'Now, what did you see?' Rowan looked into Bernardo's face.
'A red star reflected back from his left eye.' Bernardo had a look of concern on his face.
'Well, that's it then. I think he knows I'm here, fime to spring the trap.' Rowan started to climb off his seat.
'His trap or yours, my friend? The stranger also moves.' The stranger stood up from his table.
'Why Bernardo, Mine of course. Now you might want to take cover for this will get very messy, very quickly. And pass me that dagger of yours.1 Rowan concealed the weapon against his wrist. He eyed Bernardo and turned to face the taproom.
'Are you ready my friend?' A quick gaze about the room was all it took. The patrons knew something was afoot. Hands edged towards weapons. Tension thickened as Rowan drew himself up to a full height. The cloaked one looked about the room. He too was aware of the danger of a wrong move. Warily he pulled a charred black staff from the shadows of his robes and headed for the tavern door.
The shadowy one paused at the door and hurled a ball of fire towards the bar. There was a disturbance as patrons in the path dived from their upturned tables. Rowan held out his left hand and gestured. The ball of fire never reached him. Instead it became a small marble of light, glowing as it sailed the remaining distance to his open hand. The shadow mage paled. Things were not working, as they should have. Rowan smiled and the mage whacked out the tavern door and exited into the street. Rowan flicked the small sphere towards the door and it flew after the fleeing mage.
'Amateurs! They're sending amateurs after me. I feel insulted.' Rowan snorted into his ale as the sound of a loud explosion and a scream of primal agony echoed in from the street. The patrons had righted their tables and the merriment continued into the night.
Rowan finished his second ale, bid his friends farewell, and staggered out into the street. He narrowly sidestepped the smoldering remains of the cloaked mage and his pink bunny companion.
'Told you so you pink bastard.1 He indecisively took a deep breath and felt sick from the foul stench in the air. Rowan hurried down the narrow street.
It was difficult to pin down the sensation he was feeling. Rowan looked back up the road. Something was wrong.
Must have been too much water in the ale. Rowan did an about face to retrace his steps. The street he had walked down moments ago was now a small, dark curio shop. A nasty thought dropped into Rowan's mind.
Oh s&+*! I've entered the shadow guild quarter. The Dark mage will get me for sure. A noise. Movement. I'm a dead man now. It was Janna. With her stood the Dark Mage. He was smiling, good.
'You were a fool to fall for such a simple illusion. For shame! I so expected more from you but then, the Talon have always proven easy to dominate.' Shan grasped Janna by the throat and licked the side of her face.
'It took so little to turn her, to break her, to set her free. In the end she begged to be mine.' Shan smiled at her nakedness. Smiled at Rowan. Rowan drew himself up.
'Even here I have the power to take you dark one. Arrogant are you to think that I should enter this place unprepared.'
One bluff. Better make it a good one. The dark one ceased to smile. Wish I had Bernardo's blade with me. No matter.
'You were observed since you entered the tavern. You took no preparations.’ Shan felt surer of himself.
'Not all actions are observable. Now, when you feel up to it, let's get it on.' Rowan spat at Shan's boots. The dirt exploded in fire as the gob of spittle landed slightly short. The dark mage took a step back and the shadows at the edge of the street wavered.
'Illusions!' Janna laughed. 'Such foolishness will not save you.' Rowan stepped forward and Janna retreated behind Shan.
'The end has come for you, Rowan. Even now I weave the path of predators.' Rowan could feel the magical energy around him, through him, twisting the fabric of reality, re-weaving all that is into that which must not be.
'You fool Shan! Not even old Thrain himself would weave this pattern into the fabric. 'There was much energy in the weaving. Shan had added his life force to the weave.
, 'Thrain is an old man and I choose to reach beyond his weaknesses.' Shan continued the focusing of his spell. Shadows darkened the sky.
Rowan watched in horror as the form of great wolves wove them selves from the nothingness.
Janna came at him with a knife. Rowan sidestepped the attack and snatched the weapon from her hand.
Janna was thrown off balance and landed face down in the dirt. Rowan struck her across the back of the head and she went limp. The weaving was almost complete.
One chance. The throw was good as the blade gouged the dark mage across the cheek. It had been enough. The pain broke his focus and he screamed. His body erupted in an inferno of energy. There was nothing left to hit the ground. The problem became obvious. The wolves were still forming. The city was alight. What to do? Janna woke.
'What has happened?' She spotted the wolves. Her mind went wild with the terror of the moment.
'There is no time to explain. I must form the barrier tree before the wolves are loosed upon this reality. You must complete the final weaving.' A brew-house exploded somewhere on the far side of the city. He passed Janna his cloak.
'You might need this. Now we begin.' Rowan focused on the necessary weaving of thought.
'Goodbye Rowan.' Janna focused in on his way of thought and he was no more. In his place stood a young sapling of some wood that was more real than any tree known. The wolves howled in pain and began to dissipate, the shadows in the sky fell away to reveal the stars and the moon.
Janna looked at her naked, tattooed form and smiled. A group of peasants fleeing the inferno of the trader's quarter hurried past. Janna grabbed one by the throat.
'Where are you going?' Her inquiry was more of a threat than a question. The sub human struggled in her grasp.
'We're fleeing the city on account of the fire.' Janna took stock of the situation.
'No you're not! You and you're little friends will Fill some buckets with water and go find some burning building to throw it on or I will feed you to my pet Fiend. Do we have an understanding?' The peasant struggled to say yes as the grip on his neck tightened
and she lifted him off the ground. His friends trembled in fear at her strength.
The first volunteers departed to find as many buckets as possible. Janna stared at the tree that was once Rowan.
'You men! Always fighting to see who gets to be the big dog. Never realizing that the b+~!* in the den is the real ruler of the pack.' Janna smiled at the memory of Shan.
I never begged for that which would be mine. Janna focused on the tree.
'And if you think that fool Thrain will oppose me, I had him by for lunch.' Janna whetted her bloodstained lips and kissed a leaf on the tree depositing a red mark.
The palace was probably a nice place to rest. Queen Janna. Has a nice ring to it. I can give it a try for a Few centuries to see how it feels. Queen Janna became an owl and flew towards the palace.
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The Cell
Stephan watched the sun rise over the sea. The freighter was due to enter Darwin harbor within the hour. He leaned back into the water, the bow of the Wave-rider pointing skywards. The hammering of Tyco drums worked through his headphones.
The Anders Star slowly aligned itself with the headland.
His jet ski was making the slow drift towards Timor.
According to the encoded postcard, this ship was carrying a load of Ford courier vans from Singapore.
Stephan was still invisible to the crew. Twilight and dawn were still the weak points. Stephan pulled the magnetic mines from his backpack and waited for the moment. The wash of the bow pulled the Jet Ski about and Stephan throttled up to match it’s speed.
Riding against the hull, Stephan moved quickly to place the mines along the waterline.
Stephan moved away at speed. There was no point in staying to watch. In minutes the Anders Star would be just another wreck off Vestys point.
It took twenty minutes to hit the surf club at Casuarina beach. The surf bum who had loaned him the Jet Ski the previous night was on the lookout.
“Where have you been?” demanded Pete. He was nervous for some reason. He was just another f&% refugee from Bondi.
“I was just watching the Sunrise. Chill out.”
“You were supposed to be back hours ago.”
Stephan flipped out a fifty.
“Get yourself some petrol and take a ride.” Stephan headed up the beach towards the showers.
A group of young women were doing morning Tai Chi in the park. A number of them watched hungrily as he stripped off to the waist and washed down.
Stephan smiled to himself. He could use this.
In a slow arc, Stephan headed for the car park. His path took him past the girls. Their Uniforms were well fitting.
Apparently they were a women’s hockey team.
Stephan arched his eyebrow inquiringly and one of the team abandoned her exercises for something a little more energetic.
Her name was Cassie. She was twenty three, and very energetic.
The team was getting on their bus when Stephan pulled back to let Cassie off the hood of the Holden. Her bracelet scratched the hood of the car. She gritted her teeth at the sound.
“Sorry about the car.”
Stephan shrugged it off with a shake of the head.
“Not my car.” Cassie smiled.
“Ya-hud Bandu.” Cassie wondered what it meant.
“What does that mean?” Stephan looked up from her breast.
“It’s local for ‘great sex’.” Stephan turned away.
He pulled a marker from his bag and scribbled an address on her naked thigh. She looked down. It was somewhere in Fannie Bay.
“If you want some real excitement, be here tonight at twelve.”
“Sure.” She dallied for one last kiss. Cassie palmed her underpants and ran for the bus.
The others demanded to know what she was thinking.
“Ya-hud Bandu.” Cassie sat on her seat with a smug grin and pulled on her underwear in obvious view of everyone else.
“You b$!~+.” echoed from around the bus.
Stephan followed the hockey team to the Casuarina shopping complex. This would be the secondary target.
Stephan moved through the open car park next to Woolworths. Their bus sat amongst a cluster of large Toyotas and campervans, all too tall for the underground car parks.
Stephan opened the door and stepped aboard. The team carried their luggage everywhere. It took a while to find Cassie’s sports bag. Her identification tag said the team was from Broome. Stephan noted the address. He pocketed a team pin from her uniform and slipped a detonator and wire cutters into an unused side pocket. Stephan took the opportunity to wipe a small quantity of C-4 through the fabric of the other team member’s sports bags.
It took Stephan a while to reach the top of the high rise car park. Stephan made for the cinema access and, in a gymnastic moment, swung around the steel barrier on to the roof of the shopping centre complex.
Stephan focused on the large access panel in the distance. He could access the gantry above the food court there.
It took some work to penetrate the access panel.
Stephan moved out along the gantry and placed explosive charges at key structural supports. He set the timers for twenty-four hours. Below him the lunch time shoppers milled about.
The aroma of coffee and takeaway wafted upwards. The noise of the horde below him assailed his auditory senses.
Stephan moved back out onto the roof.
The peace of the metal landscape and open sky calmed him. This roof world held a lot of appeal. If it wasn’t for the occasional intruder one could even consider it a way of life.
In the Eatery, Stephan found the fine delicacy of lemon fish and the only large thick-shake worth drinking. He pitied the crowd in McDonalds, lining up for the putrid taste of soy extract.
Stephan sucked on the momentary sweetness of his orange juice thick-shake. The aptly named Sunrise would be sour within seconds.
It was ten p.m. when Stephan penetrated the Surf Club. Pete was energized on coke when he ran into Stephan. The bullet penetrated Pete’s chest. Pete choked on his own blood, struggling for the air that would never come. Stephan closed on the struggling body.
Die. Stephan shot him in the brain.
Stephan opened the doors to the beach Stephan backed the trailer into the water until the Jet Ski floated.
It took half an hour to circle the Northern Suburbs and slip into Darwin harbor. The wreck of the Anders Star sat off the Casino. There was heavy activity all over it. The Scene investigators were still examining the damaged ship. Stephan focused his attention on Fannie Bay. There was a Yacht by the Boat ramp. The rest had gone. Stephan slid up along side the Yacht. The rocking of the Yacht disturbed Geoff Marshall. He staggered out into the main cabin to confront his intruder.
“What the hell is going on?” Stephan shot him in the brain. Stephan dragged the body into the shower cubical.
It was eleven p.m. when Stephan got to the beach. He rode the Jet Ski onto the sand. Stephan made his way towards the houses.
It was eleven-thirty p.m. when Stephan dragged the Chief Minister’s Security detail into the hedges. The cops had been slow. Their lack of training was obvious. Stephan let himself into the house.
Sue Thorn was restless as she staggered into the hallway in her night gown and flipped the hallway light on. She was having trouble sleeping.
It was a week into her second term as Chief Minister.
Why couldn’t this have happened while the Country Liberal Party was in charge?
The silencer whistled as the bullet hit her in the brain. Sue collapsed in the hallway as brain and blood sprayed the wall behind her.
Stephan turned into the bedroom and took her husband as he struggled awake.
Stephan closed off the hallway and returned to the kitchen. He dropped six explosive packs behind the gas stove and then penetrated the double fridge. There was only quality food here. Stephan liberated two bottles of wine from a shelf before wiring the fridge.
It was midnight when Cassie got to the Fannie Bay address. She had seen it in the paper. This was the Chief Minister’s house.
Stephan stepped out from behind a tree. He was wearing white overalls, gloves, and a mask.
“Quick. Put these on.” Stephan tossed her a bag. Cassie pulled her skirt off and slipped into the overalls. Stephan felt her up.
“Stop that. You’re distracting me.” Stephan smiled.
“That’s the point.”
“What are we doing here?” Cassie looked about with concern.
“There’s a curfew on with that boat that hit that mine.”
Stephan stared into her eyes.
“I know. We are just here to do some spray painting.” Stephan handed her a spray pack.
Stephan sprayed fluorescent yellow on the brick wall of the house.
“Go that way and I’ll meet you on the patio.” Cassie smiled and headed along the front of the house.
Stephan moved for the patio.
Cassie took a while before she reached the patio.
Stephan timed it just right as he emerged onto the patio with the wine. Cassie watched as he exited the sliding door.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stephan licked his lips.
“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake the neighbors.” Cassie was horrified.
“Are you f%$~ing insane?”
“Just getting us some drinks.” Stephan shook his head.
“Put them back.”
“You put them back.”
“Bastard.” Cassie was scared for the first time in her life.
“Fridge, Left hand side or they will know you were in the house.” Cassie clenched her teeth and swore inwardly.
“When you get done, I will be heading for the beach for a swim.” Stephan walked off.
This guy was a total bastard. She needed to ditch him as soon as possible. Cassie entered the house and moved slowly through the lounge. It had beautiful furniture. Certainly none of that cheap s+@% the rest lived with.
Cassie circled the small dining table and moved towards the open-plan kitchen. The fridge was a double door monster with stainless steel shell. Cassie opened the left door. The light was out. She saw the gun on the fridge shelf. There was light.
The explosion shredded the house. Brickwork tore through adjacent houses and rained roof tile across the suburb.
Stephan sheltered behind a footpath shredding Mahogany until the rain of brick and fire was over.
Stephan ran the last two hundred meters and dropped behind a grass embankment. The path there led down to the beach. The Jet Ski was sitting on the sand where he had left it.
Stephan lifted the seat and exchanged the spare handgun for Cassie’s clothes.
Stephan swam for the Yacht anchored just off the boat ramp. Geoff Marshall’s body was still propped up in the shower cubical. Stephan pulled up the anchor and motored out past East Point.
Only when he was clear of the headland, did Stephan raise sail.
Somewhere on the trip to Broome, Jeff Marshall’s body went overboard.
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Robyn Hood, A Modern Tale
London, 2007
Robyn pulled the trigger. The fifty Calibre rifle recoiled into Robyn’s shoulder as the round jumped from the barrel and closed the half kilometre distance to the Target.
On the step in front of Ten Downing Street, the Prime minister paused and waved to the increasingly indifferent crowd. The Worst of the Hecklers were well back. The round caught him in the left eye and exploded through him as he stepped forward towards the Car. The Policeman in his shadow caught a handful of skull and frontal lobe as the body went down. The policeman hurled his body against the smiling Minister for Defence pushing him back through the doorway.
The Press went into a photographic feeding frenzy. That smile would cost a political career.
Robyn moved. Looking one last time at the English longbow and arrows in a black drawstring hood for a quiver he had placed deliberately on the roof. He then picked up the rifle and moved back through the building. It was teeming with Government personnel. Perhaps it didn’t matter to them that the Painter was carrying a large rifle wrapped in a drop-cloth. The rifle was still cooling as he dropped it into the Storage Box and closed the locks.
Passing through Security and out into the backstreet, he loaded the box into the Transit.
The big man in the back looked at him.
“Done?” Little John was a man of precise words.
“Yes.” Robyn stared at his sombre giant.
London, 2000
Robyn stared at it again. The government of Afghanistan was hiring professional soldiers to train its people and work on bringing order from chaos.
“So you’re saying we get paid to train the troops in Afghanistan’s new army?”
“Yes. They are very interested in building their nation.” His Contact had brokered quite a few of these deals in the last few months.
“Okay, why not.” Robyn had done his bit for Crown and Country, so this little Crusade would be to help someone else build something from the rubble.
Afghanistan, 2002
The towering giant of a man smiled at him.
“John Foster.” The big man smiled. It was all he could find.
“Robyn…” Robyn started at the Jets overhead. The Americans were invading a Sovereign state and killing or rounding up anyone who got in the way.
Robyn focused on the old Taliban soldier talking up front.
“They said they are heading over the border into Pakistan.” Robyn looked back to John Foster.
“F##*.” Foster smiled at Robyn’s profanity.
The explosion ripped them from the back of the Toyota as the rest of the convoy vaporised.
Bandits came out of the darkness to pick over the bodies.
John woke Robyn. They were being sold to the Americans. The CIA front man handed over a wad of cash and waved to his band of Soldiers to load the pair up.
“How are you doing lads? Where is the Airport?” Robyn put on his best friendly face.
“Shut the f~@+ up!” The rifle-butt in the back of his head told him they were not going home just yet.
The CIA Operative dropped the black drawstring hood over Robyn’s Head and pulled the cord.
“You terrorist bastards are going to get yours.” A vague voice whispered in his ear.
American Occupied Cuba, 2004
“Think you’re going home, do you?” The Interrogator sat on the chair on Robyn’s chest that much harder. Robyn’s bound hands were crushed beneath the weight of his own back.
“Where the f!*# is Osama Bin Laden?”
“Never f$&%ing met him.”
This would take a while.
His cage sat opposite John Foster. The Giant no longer smiled but his lack of communication had caused his interrogators to do bad things to him.
“How you like your holiday in Cuba?” Robyn smiled through bloody teeth.
“Robyn Hood and Little John f$+# your Norman Wenches.” Robyn unleashed with the protest Song.
“And when you go home you’ll hear them moan and find them up the trenches.” Came Little John Foster.
Their Jailer opened with the Fire Hose.
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Kershov and Ilam - A Tale from Baba Yaga's Hut
The rifles cracked as thunder across the Carpathians.
Their men were dead. The women of this muddy village of hovels screamed and retreated from the violence of this trespass as though their clay and straw huts would protect them from devils.
A groan came from one body of a man.
“Not dead?” Kershov signaled to his companion. Ilam approached the body.
“This one doesn’t want to die!”
“So?” Ilam lifted his rifle.
“No.” In a few simple blows, an axe split the narrow shape of a small tree, felling the leaves and branches, and then shaping the trunk to a point.
“Now?” asked Ilam.
“Now!” replied his companion. Ilam hoisted the living corpse in the air and dropped it down on the stump. The corpse choked and died.
Suddenly they became aware of something. No longer were there sounds coming from the ruin of this dirty hole of a village. They investigated the huts for potential victims. They were gone. The fear of their violence was gone from it. It hadn’t been that long. They had killed the groaning man in a breath of seconds.
Kershov and Ilam struggled about the grey clay mud with their rifles at the ready.
Movement caught Ilam in the corner of his eye.
“There!” An old woman had pushed quickly across the gravel and descended into the darkness of a hut at the very edge of the village.
“Not getting away!” Kershov made for the opening and descended into the darkness. Ilam almost fell in behind him.
What struck them instantly was the scale of it on the inside. They had entered the simple hut through a small doorway. The hut interior was deeply dark. Underfoot the floor scraped as metallic. Kershov struck up a light and applied it to his tallow-lamp.
"What is this?" The room of the hut was deeply circular. The floor, the wall, and ceiling were iron. The Ceiling most of all was low and dark. They would have to bend to avoid bumping their heads. The doorway behind them snapped shut.
"No!" Ilam and Kershov threw themselves against the sealed entrance. It was solid iron.
There had to be a release somewhere on it. Both companions struggled for the indiscernible catch that would release them from this wolf’s trap.
A grind of Metal came from the room behind them.
The Ceiling was a large clock face, the iron hands moving. Each tick echoed through the walls, ceiling, and floor. A minute on the clock passed. A Door on the far wall was grinding open.
What entered was a distortion of everything they thought of as human. The deformity moved slowly across the chamber until it stood at the centre.
"Interview you, Baba Yaga will." It examined them both with its diseased eyes. It couldn't possible see them. The deformity retreated to its doorway and the iron door sealed behind it.
Overhead the clock continued.
Kershov was whispering something to himself. Ilam stared at his companion. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Praying", answered Kershov.
Ilam realized he had never seen his companion pray in the six months they had been murdering and pillaging their way through these mountain villages.
"Why?" Ilam looked at the movement of the clock.
"Because when she is done cooking our corpses, she is going to torture our souls." Ilam stared at his companion.
"You are insane!" Segments in the wall opened and steam sprayed into the room.
The two murderers began to scream.
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Greyhawk, Dark and Nasty
Franz and his companions had reached the city of Greyhawk well past the closing of the gates.
A cluster of fifty wagons burdened with firewood were huddled together on the well compacted turf on the north side of the road. Their animals had been un-harnessed and were simply restrained by short ropes. Many drivers sat huddled around fires. Others dozed in or under their carts.
“Finally!” Exclaimed Franz as he staggered up to the gates.
“Damn! We have missed evening-gate.” His words stirred something and he was instantly confronted by a guard stepping out of the shadow of the wall.
“No entry after evening-gate!” Finn Wildworth stared at the scruffy guard. Other noises and movement came from the shadows.
“Then we will wait with the merchants.” Finn turned his back and Franz pushed past him.
“Excuse my young companion. He knows not how things work.” Franz dropped a sack of fifty gold coins into the guard’s hand.
Kepio examined the contents and pushed the sack into his tunic. He rubbed his chin before banging twice on the gate. It cracked open enough for the companions to enter. Light spilled into the shadow to reveal a second guard with a young girl up against the stonework. He was riding her hard with a hand gripping her undergarments.
The guard who had palmed the gold went back to join his associate in their evening of sexual gratification.
Franz led his companions through the gap and a third guard, ugly and almost Orcish smiled.
“If you want a taste, it will cost fifty gold coins for the evening.” He looked out at the other two guards and licked his lips.
“No, we have to visit the markets. No time for pleasure.” Franz shook his head and pulled Finn along behind him.
“Ah! You’re Shieldlanders. Hah!“ He made a crude gesture that was Orc for males having sex with young boys.
”You call this Civilization?” Finn was rabid with a need to kill all three guards. The child couldn’t have been twelve.
“Ay! And it has all aspects of Civilization, even the ones you despise. Now stay alert.” Franz led them down through the streets.
Kayand who had remained silent during their entry whispered now.
“Off to your left.” He stepped into a shadow invoking his Shadow-door spell and vanished. A choke and a quick struggle came from the Alley ahead of them and Kayand stepped over the bodies and rejoined the group.
“Just the Two.” Others cowering in the shelter of the alley fell on the corpses for all they might have had.
A Scream at the end of an alley as a young man was held and pack-raped by a gang of five very large and nasty bulls.
Finn gripped his farm-sickle and Franz stopped him.
“By Cuthbert, the Paladins should have this City put to the impaling pole.” Franz pulled the young farmer down the street to avoid drawing attention.
“Just shut up and keep moving. My enemies will do much worse to us if they find us here after morning-gate.”
They reached the markets. Sellers peddled from hand carts and barrows. Cooked Meat that looked more like the flesh of young children abducted from the streets and their homes than any herd animal Finn had ever encountered.
He was no longer hungry.
Franz pushed a salted sausage into his hand.
“Eat this! It’s a spiced fish sausage.” Kayand nodded and chewed at his own as he handed over a selection of coin for all of them. Franz whispered to the vendor and handed over other coins. Strange square coins with the symbol of Tharizdun on them. The Vendor hurriedly pocketed the coins. He passed Franz a small wicker bundle wrapped in twine. It looked like a doll.
Franz now led his companions from the market place with a handful of food and a purpose. Kayand was burdened with a sack of flour and another smaller one of salt.
They hurried up an alley that took them into Wood-peddlers Way. There shops here all closed for the night. They sold firewood.
“The Carts outside are probably theirs.” Franz Stoped at a shopfront. Hanging above the shop’s door was a wicker bundle doll.
He pushed an iron rivet in the heavy wooden door and then waited.
The Shopkeeper appeared in the doorway to the astonishment of Finn.
“Seeking Wicker; I have coin.” Franz pushed a square coin marked with the symbol of Tharizdun into the shopkeeper’s hand and was quickly ushered in and the door closed.
The Shopkeeper led them to the back and pushed open a wall-panel providing access to a stairs going down.
They found the roar of people and the smell of blood and sweat before they had entered the room. Inside a fight in a pit was underway. A selection of vermin cheered at the violence happening below them.
A black elf, naked, bruised and bloody punched at the throat of her opponent. He collapsed as a second thug bear-hugged her from behind. The greatness of his manhood slid between her thighs.
“Maybe I give you more.” The animal fell back as she tore his future children from his body.
“Maybe I feed them to you!” She was very angry.
“She is here. Now you can kill all the vermin to your heart’s content.” Franz turned away from Finn and pulled a short dagger that sprang to full length with the twist of a handle. Finn pulled his sickle and began a furious harvest of heads.
An explosion of chaos as men and others, living and dead fell into the pit with the elf.
“About time you got here Franz.” She smiled as she picked up a weapon.
Finally! The relief of having a weapon washed over her.
“Sorry Kaiya, It took a while to find some damn coins…” Kaiya became a whirlwind of death as she danced across the backs of an increasingly great pile of corpses and jumped up onto the edge of the pit.
The shopkeeper burst through the door and was instantly confronted by Kayand.
“I’d find you a Bathhouse but we must be out before morning-gate.” Kaiya nodded.
“There is a Small Village south. They have a nice bathhouse.” Franz pulled a heavy cloak over her naked form and kissed her head.
“Foster-daughter, are you intact?” She nodded. They hadn’t managed to violate her. Apparently the difficulty had done much to up her price.
“Companions, behold my foster-daughter, Kaiya.” Kayand nodded politely. Finn struggled to stop starring at her naked beauty.
He nodded awkwardly and Kaiya smiled at his response.
“Where did you get the farm-boy and how much do you want for him?” She laughed at the young farmer’s social awkwardness as he straightened and focussed on something else.
“Veluna. He’s still learning his place in the world.” Franz growled at Finn.
“Put your Sickle away boy.” Franz led his daughter out of the blood-drenched nest. Kayand looked at Finn and shook his head. He pushed the young farmer to the stairs before following up.
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The Mission Commander
Greg braced himself against the interior of the Lifepod hatchway and chewed his mealbar. Beyond him sat a months supply of similar protien rich, yet undesirably chewy sufferance.
"Bastard." The M.C.'s criticism dug deep.
Greg had made it through Colonist selection and training, now, two weeks from Mars, and this old bastard who would never set foot on Mars, whose entire task was to ferry them out so the six colonists onboard the aging Soyuz-SC Colony Transport could make a landing and build a new civilization, was putting him on report.
His helmet floated in close proximity. Orders. Mission protocol. Survival systems always handy.
I'll take one of yours for good measure. Greg pocketed a bar.
"You go hungry a day from Earth. See how that looks on your record." Greg tossed the empty into the return trip food stores and smiled.
"Greg?" Comm static gave way to a voice. It was Carol.
"Yeah?" He had considered repeatedly becoming involved with Carol but she was fixated on a five sided relationship with the other couples of this journey. Greg had become something of an outcast simply by devoting himself to an increased workload rather than social interaction.
How long are you going to be on the particulate cleanup?" Greg looked down at the humming vacuum cleaner worth a quarter of a million dollars.
"Maybe another ten minutes. It looks like someone had sex in one of the food storage capsules." That would get them whispering amongst themselves.
"Don't be in too great a hurry, the old man is telling us another one of his Lunar survey stories." Great. Another epic about how he and Neil Armstrong built the first lunar colony in one mission. These old Shuttle era guys were nothing but stories.
That just cost you a second mealbar old man. Greg snatched up the vacuum as it made it's way past, a fish swimming in zero gravity.
"We are a survey team. Our task is to assess three possible sites for Colony one. We must analyse samples, evaluate soil loading, search for water, mine, refine, and contemplate our oneness with the environment, and have happy spanking communal sex." It sounded good. Greg smiled and stuffed the vacuum in its storage locker.
Greg was laughing by the time he got to the observation bubble. Carol met him there.
"Do you know who?" Were the first words from her mouth. Greg Shepperd strapped himself in and flipped a switch. For the first time in days he felt G forces pushing and pulling at him. Carol sat in the other one eighty degrees of very comfortable seating. The circum-opposite seats moved faster in their ten million dollar bearing.
Greg reached out against the two gee of rotation and touched Carol's face.
"No Idea. All evidence destroyed." He smiled arrogantly at her. Carol kicked herself out of the seat. She was pissed.
Carol pushed against him with force and spiralled off into the dining area impacting hard against the storage locker that concealed the fold-away dinner table. It left a crease in the metal panel. The engraved colonial kitchen scene that had been worked into the panel was damaged. Women working with food. It was a duplicate of something over two hundred years old.
"S~#~." Greg flipped a switch and the seats slowed.
"Are you injured?" Greg was concerned.
She didn't answer. She simply left, heading for the food storage lifepods.
"Great. Something else I gotta fix."
Greg pushed across to the tools manifest.
Earth radio feed piped in over the Comm.
“Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha-Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha.” Koko do ro? It was roses something. This was the pinnacle of human achievement and Greg could no longer remember the name of the damn song.
Nylon mallet, locker six. Grady entered the living quarters from the flight deck.
“Where’s Carol?” Greg pointed a thumb in the direction of Support Systems and pushed across to the bent panel.
“She’s letting go aft.” The joke was lost on Grady.
Flight Surgeon David P. Grady was a humourless bastard. His entire existence was medicine and psychology. He was having sex with three women who were experiencing mental problems over sexual territory.
So much for conflict of interest you unethical bastard.
“Grady?” Greg had to know.
“You got selected by a committee of your peers for this right?”
“Yeah. What of it?” Grady was analysing the tone in Greg’s Voice. Greg could tell.
“Did you ever find out what put you to the top of the list?” Greg acted passive.
“I never cared to ask.” Greg let him go. Carol was waiting.
They kicked you off Earth. And you lied.
“Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha-Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha” came the music. Greg felt the rhythm of it and hammered at the bent panel with the nylon mallet.
Priceless art and it would never be perfect again. It took a drawn out inspection to reach a conclusion. The table folded out nicely but you could still see the stress of the metal. For the second time in his life, Greg settled for almost.
Mallet returned to locker six. Maintenance log checked off. Task: Repaired damaged table art. Cause: Carol jumped from the moving rollercoaster.
Greg made for the distant observation bubble and its ten million dollar bearing.
This is the disenchanting truth. I am alive. A flipped switch and two gravities of hope and pain worked their power.
“Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha-Hm hm hm hm-hm hm ha” came the music even though it was now only in his head. Six months on a ship with people he had come to feel contempt and hatred for. The human race was screwed.
“Shepperd?” Greg opened his eyes to the M.C. A flipped switch and the system closed down. Greg stared at the most annoying individual in his life.
“You didn’t upload the maintenance Log.”
“What time is it?” Greg looked around for a time display.
Must have dozed off.
“I need to upload to Earth.” Was it that late?
“I’ll get it done now.” Greg Shepperd pushed past and headed for the Maintenance Log.
Time display: 02:23
Three hours. I was asleep for three hours.
“If you are looking for Carol and Grady, they went aft three hours ago.”
“I just want the maintenance log.” Greg pushed the buttons faster. The quicker he was done, the sooner he could get sleep.
“Maintenance log uploaded.” Shepperd looked around for the M.C. He was inspecting the damaged panel.
“What happened?” Somehow this was annoying to him.
“It’s in the Log. I fixed most of the damage.”
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THE BLACK DOME
-A RUUL SIX PRELUDE-
“It is decided! We return to the valley to investigate what is happening there.” Giyan the Elder pointed at the young warriors of the clan.
“Rest Well. It is three Suns to the Springs of Ur and we must cover the distance by the first.”
The Nemec roused from their sleep to the last evening meal in the water-caves. The wilted fungus baked in a mudpack in a fire burning even more wilted fungus as fuel. The aroma of its spores filled the caves.
The narcotic spore aroused them into assaulting their food with amorous fury.
Givan the Elder pointed to the others.
“Sataru!” Chanted his voice.
“Sataru!” Vinois the Wild cried with narcotic pleasure and the others followed.
They ran now through the night covering ground that was still warm from the terrible heat of the day. The Narcotic devoured the pain of their journey and closed the great distance into a single night.
Just before Sun, the Nemec found the foliage wall of an alien jungle and they were able to rest for a while in its shadows.
Junam the Swift drew the attention of Vinois to one plant that was obviously feeding off another.
“See it? Like a bore-beetle, it feeds off the victim until it dies.” Junam pointed at an older fallen plant that had rotted.
“It would be like waking up and finding that the wilted fungus is growing in us as we eat its spores.” Vinois cringed at the thought as he chewed down some spore.
Givan the Elder laughed at their conversation as he patted the warriors on the back.
“That is why we chew our spore, not swallow whole… Come! It is cooler further in.” Givan walked slowly into the undergrowth.
The shadow of the jungle allowed them for the first time ever to travel day and night.
They watched as foliage opened with the morning sun and tracked it across the sky. Flowers that bloomed at night closed up during the day, and others opened to replace their departure.
Junam spotted the strange flower waving a pollen tail. He could smell a strangely familiar and arousing scent.
What ever it was, it was feeding on an underground source of Wilted Fungus Spore. He stuck his face in its stamen and sniffed.
The ground at its base swelled, the stalk expanded instantly as it pushed up the narrow tube.
A strange worm burst from the foliage covered jungle floor to envelop Junam the Swift. His scream was terrible as it crushed him into a digestible juice.
The others watched as the bulge of Junam was drawn into the ground and the flower returned to being a flower.
They gave the flower-that-ate-Junam a wide birth now. Certainly the hungry plants would easily be recognised amongst the many strange plants.
The Springs of Ur fed the alien jungle. The tallest and oldest plants grew in and around the springs feeding on their life-giving power.
“The waters are poisoned with their feeding.” Givan shook his head with concern now. They needed water soon. He chewed down more spore and pushed forward through the jungle. The other Nemec followed.
They could see it as they emerged from the alien jungle that had come to infest their valley. A great black dome that was only slightly darker than the stone of the cliffs from which it had been carved.
Vinois the Wild choked on the idea of something so alien.
“How far away is it?” Vinois looked to his Elder for answers.
“Two Suns! But we must stop at Wadi Bloodwater. It is the only shelter from the Sun and there is a spring there.” Givan chewed down some Spore of the Wilted Fungus, and ran forward onto the grassed plain that separated their warriors from Wadi Bloodwater.
“Will it be any better than the other springs?” Vinois chewed down the last of his spore of wilted fungus and followed with the remaining Nemec.
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Boldly Lost
A Short Story
Ensign Curtis stared at the two Suns that seemed to orbit the very edge of the Star system. Somewhere between those engines of raw power, Hondo Curtis came to realize that the star patterns he should be seeing were not there. He flipped them in his mind with precision, and then again. No, he now was well beyond the limits of the Alpha Quadrant. Hondo looked about before thinking to pull his Starfleet Issue Tricorder. A lifeless desert in all directions and the Suns would never go down.
“That’s not good.” The Tricorder indicated water about five meters down from the surface of this perpetually lit desert. He would need water before he got there.
They had lost one. The Captain grimaced at the loss of the young crewman.
“Any idea what happened to him?” The Engineer the Ensign was working under shook his head.
“He was simply sweeping the targeting matrix with his Tricorder while I scanned the buffer for signal reflection error. When the power surge hit the ship, he was standing on the pad…”
“…And the surge activated random quantum eddies floating in the targeting matrix.” The Engineer nodded at the Captain’s assessment of the events.
“And you have no Idea where he was sent?” The Engineer shook his head.
“It would be limited the quantum eddies induced by the Tricorder. We will need to run experiments.”
The Captain nodded.
“Keep me apprised of the situation.” The engineer looked up.
“Yes Captain.” Captain Riker turned and began the long walk back to the bridge. He had lost one.
Ensign Hondo Curtis looked up from the bottom of the hole he wad digging for himself. Four feet down and he was tired already.
I won’t make it. Hondo struck at the compacted dirt with a stone tool he had made from the Obsidian he has found two feet up with less effort than he should have. First day out from his appointment to the Ship and he is Lost in a Transporter mishap. Hondo sat down in the hole. Damn It. The dirt was cool against his back at this depth. It felt good.
Stuff that. It could be worse. He could be dead and reduced to a puddle on the Transporter pad with that cute medic who checked his vitals crying over it.
He resumed digging. No way was he going to have her cry over a biological sample of his remains.
Had it been days? It seemed like it. The obsidian hammer dug slowly into the sandstone. A phaser would be good about now. It would have been good ten minutes ago when he hit the sandstone layer.
Wait a minute. Ensign Curtis shook the sand from his brain and smiled.
Dear Tricorder, I barely knew you. Hondo made the modifications and dropped it to the dirt.
Ensign Curtis climbed out of the pit and rolled out across the warm sand. The low frequency pulse cracked the sandstone and churned Hondo’s bowels. Ensign Curtis looked back into the hole. The Tricorder was cooked and there was substantial cracking in the Sandstone.
It took what seemed like hours for the water to bubble from the crack in the stone but he would live. There was the first trickle of water and it just seemed to pour from the stone with increasing force.
The well filled and the Tricorder that had sacrificed its life that he might live, floated near the surface. Ensign Curtis fished it out along with the shirt that had served as his dirt removal sack.
Hondo drank from Hondo’s Well.
Captain Riker struggled to compose the message to Ensign Hondo Curtis’s parents.
Dear James and Elizabeth Curtis, I must inform you that you son was lost in the line of duty. Though I did not have the chance to know him, His senior officers inform me that he was diligent in the carrying out of his duties…
Riker stared at the report.
Hondo collapsed near the Well edge, weakened by the lack of food. No Tricorder. No Phaser. No way to find food, signal for help, or get home. He had gone a week without food and it was coming to an end just like that.
The smell of the young medic washed over him as he focused on the memory of her face.
“Beautiful…” The delirious Ensign Hondo Curtis struggled to reach out to the beautiful face. The two individuals who stood over Ensign Curtis were rather confused by the images coming from his mind. The shorter of the two tasted the water of Hondo’s Well and nodded while the taller blur kneeled to force regurgitated fungus into his mouth.
Hondo choked on the sugary substance. There was something horrid in the taste but his brain told him to swallow.
Hondo floated in light. There was nothing there but a bright, all-encompassing whiteness. Then they came to him. Their necks were long and flexible and at the end of that appendage were small hairless heads with nothing familiar about them beyond the idea of a humanoid form. They had no eyes that Hondo could spot but they seemed to look straight at him. They sensed his confusion and the one leaning over him reached out to touch its forehead and then the forehead of Hondo as if imparting some meaning in the gesture.
They saw with their minds. They saw what Hondo saw and gained from the experience. Ensign Hondo Curtis stared at the alien’s two fingers and thumb that defined what could be a hand and the Alien touched the hand, feeling the images that Hondo’s mind broadcasted so loudly. He though momentarily of his own people, his family and his world and the alien minds devoured the images that he offered up.
Hondo hungered, and understanding, the alien regurgitated the chewed fungus that it had fed him before. His feelings of concern at having to ingest the alien substance confused his motherly companion. The alien being stroked the side of his head and encouraged him to ingest. Hondo Swallowed and the one who had fed him withdrew.
Then they were gone again leaving Ensign Hondo Curtis to drift in the white light.
Hondo seemed to drift for along time before they returned to him. This time the other led him from the light to a chamber that had a distinct floor. Here the being that was his guide showed him artefacts that seemed to be a diverse collection of confusing and abandoned rubbish. His uniform was there, torn and ripped and he realized for the first time that he was without clothing. His Phaser, his Tricorder, and a million other things they had apparently collected through contact.
He saw an Isolinear rod. The markings seemed aged a millennia but it was a Federation datastore. He looked around to see what else he could find. A Federation Portable Tablet Display sat revealed amongst the junk. He slotted the Isolinear rod in and hoped for the best.
The datastore bought up a historical record of the history of the Federation advancing far beyond the era he had left behind. It showed everything that he would never experience. The fall of the old Federation he had left behind, the Dark times that would have come in the years ahead, and the rise of a Second.
He advanced the timeline down the hallway of eternity all the while watching as Humanity blurred to become something no longer human. The stress of his discoveries crushed him. The Calender referenced something different to what he was used to. The symbolic AK seemed to say it all. Humanity had ceased a mere thirty six thousand years after the birth of Kirk. Hondo despised the reckless Kirk that so many venerated. He burst into laughter at the irony of it. Humanity had faded out venerating an egomaniac.
History advanced through eternity as alien blended with alien, attempts at cloning only seemed to add to the tidal wave of inevitable change. The Romulans, Vulcans, Klingons, even the Cardassians seemed to absorb into the genetic pool of the Federation and vanish. All was gone. Humanity was lost to the past. Hondo kept looking at his alien companion with growing suspicion and concern. It seemed to respond to his gaze.
The aliens gathered in increasing numbers, first his two and then others he had not seen before. They crowded into the chamber to see want he saw. To experience the emotions he felt. To experience a history that none of them knew. From Hondo they learned of the Federation, the merging of many peoples through an eternity of change until one final image showed them the birth of a single child who was so like them it all fell into place. Ensign Hondo Curtis struggled to his feet and pushed slowly and gently through the gathered horde of hungry aliens. There he found the mother who had kept him alive and gently held her in an embrace.
Hondo was home.