A Mandate Of Sword And Railgun

Mage

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 2

Behind the mask

Ruins.

Once these tall buildings glistened in the sun, their multi-colored facades reflected moonlight during the long, mellow, Avern’a nights. Those who lived in them sang songs, thanked the Architects who designed their homes, praised the Builders who constructed them and, remembered the Soldiers who sacrificed so they could live free.

Avern’a men and women no longer lived in this city – their children’s laughter silenced forever, when the cannibalistic Jaern invaded. Gnawed, falling apart bones rolled at the bottom of huge plasma bomb craters. Nearly all buildings had gaping, molten at the edges holes, mangled pieces of metal sticking out like the broken ribcage of a skeleton.

Where the invader’s orbital beam guns and plasma pulse weapons hit – soil, metal, stone, and flesh turned into a glass-like sludge. Yet, even after all that devastation, during the beginning of their end, there were plenty of vengeance-seeking Avern’a survivors. For generations, they stood and fought, battled the invader with resolve unrelenting.

The sun’s burning hot rays now shone upon their dilapidated skeletons. Dressed in ancient battle armor, some of them rotted together with their machines. Many a tank or mecha lay blasted apart, their metal husks turned monument for entire people’s defiant resistance.

Towns like this one lay devastated under piles of rubble; every building damaged, every road bombed, every statue crushed. Museums filled with ancient art, libraries, theaters – it was all ruined, gone. Their crumpled, miserable husks were sad remnants from a bygone era; a time of peace and prosperity, when these people held the tool and the brush, not the gun.

Those precious few Avern’a who lived now – they could not imagine how many billions perished before them, for their memory was slain. Even lore keepers had forgotten the songs of their honored dead and now only sang of sorrow, impending doom. The inevitable death of their people was at hand, and seemingly not they, not anyone else could prevent it.

His teal robe gently fluttering in the wind, with apparent ease the masked man trekked across this ravaged landscape. Seemingly unaffected by the burning hot midday sun, he walked on the dirt-covered ancient street, instead of embracing the shadows.

The eyes of many followed him; ravaged by hunger, thirst, and sickness aliens scurried around and about, fighting for scraps of food. The strongest and most vicious of them took shelter inside the less ruined buildings, while their peers suffered the elements, out in the open.

Among their number there were a token few Avern’a survivors. Yet their will squished by constant hardship and history erased, these remnants no longer earned freedom. They were in fact, barely distinguishable from the alien scavengers who lived alongside them. Some even forgot their culture, and did not speak their own language anymore.

Distant screams, wallows of pain and pleas for mercy, accompanied by a choir of malevolent laughter, echoed across the ruined town. Midday heat distorted and enhanced them; carried by scorching hot winds, soon these unsightly sounds reached the masked man’s ears.

He slowed down and after a few star-seconds, stopped, his cowled head canted slightly to the left.

Those who watched him from their dusty holes, they noticed how the yellow crystals of his mask glinted once. The ends of his robes flickered, golden light shrouded him and his entire figure shimmered. This eerie glow persisted for a second longer, and then the mage looked just as he was before yet, the onlookers knew better.

Something or someone angered the mage and, shuddering, these wretches wrapped themselves in whatever raggedy clothing they still had. Eyes tightly shut they turned their heads away and covered their ears, skulking deeper inside their ruined adobes. Not one of them wished to witness the doom which this mage would soon manifest into existence.

The cries quickly turned into shrieks and then reached a desperate crescendo, but the mage was no longer there. With a flash he’d moved, transported himself by unfathomable ways and those few who dared steal a look, they heard his ominous command:

“Come and see...”

Terrified beyond measure, nevertheless these people abandoned their hiding places. Compelled by his power, they all walked in the same direction, followed the shouts.

Beyond what was once a grand, paved with white metal causeway, stood a fountain. Only odd pieces of concrete and rubble remained from the many statues which surrounded it in ages past. What was left of its bombed, elongated basin, now served as this village’s muddy watering hole.

A testament to the ancient Avern’a engineers’ skill, there was a single pipe which still carried water after all those ages. Drop by drop, although slowly, the clear liquid flowed and oftentimes locals formed days-long, thirsty queues. They carried broken bottles, mangled metal pots, vacfoam scraps – everything which could hold water.

The source of these desperate cries and in fact, all the commotion, was a small water queue. Five alien women lay beaten on the dusty ground; whatever meager possessions these people had, they’ve already been relieved of. As a matter of fact, some of the more painful shouts the cowled man heard – one was about to be molested.

Four armed aliens, one of them sporting impressive physique, pushed the women around, their main target the youngest of them. She was the only one who actually offered any resistance, keeping the brigands at bay with an old vibroblade. Yet, it was obvious that these vagabonds were merely playing with their quarry – soon enough she was disarmed and tripped.

This young girl was anything, but a trained warrior. Since her clothes were in tatters, one could see that her body was toned, skin clean and without blemishes. During their scuffle, her cloth hat was torn and the woman’s rare, jet-black hair now flew free in the wind. Moreover, the girl’s eyes weren’t just another shade of pink; she looked at her would be molesters with hate, focused in her gray irises.

This was an unnaturally beautiful young Avern’a – expensive piece of flesh which any slaver here would pay triple the standard fare. Suffice to say, the bandits slobbered, as they ogled her shapes and pure white skin... all except one.

“What, you thought we’ll let some scrawny runts draw our water for free?” – Shouted the bulky man in Fringe speak with a thick Taksian dialect.

“Dis be our boss’s tariterie, an ‘ere ye leif by hes rules. Nahbadie can denie boss Sickface!” – Stated in barely understandable Taz’aran one of the men, beam pistol in hand.

“Ya gon pai wiff yer flesh, cos dem stuff of yers – dey werhf nathein.” – Screeched another bandit, jaw snapping and licking his teeth between words, much like the Jaern did.

“Everything ere is ours,” – spat out a gruff-looking Taz’aran – “land, watar, grub, and ye all whe live on it.”

It was clear that he gave the orders around here and his underlings kept their gobs tightly shut while he spoke. The three looked at him with ill-concealed disdain and even a bit of fear since he was armed with an RBG. This unsightly weapon could shower quite the area with an absolute torrent of deadly particle-beams.

Called the “Taz’aran Messenger,” it truly displayed the overwhelming desire of those who created it to rule over everything and everyone. At least those who remained alive, after beam guns like this one blasted all of Taz’ara’s enemies apart.

The jaw snapping, teeth licking alien, walked in a manner which only a Jaern could. He reached forth and grabbed one of the beaten women by her leg, his left hand holding a curved vibroblade.

“Eiyyy, doh me eye lie or her leg look... juuucie!”

His target shook, pure terror in her eyes and mumbled a plea for mercy with her bloodied mouth.

“Wat dou me cares bout yer leg?! Lurn tah laief without it, buy a crutch er sumfin.”

The Jaern’s words were accompanied by another bout of heartless laughter and then the RBG armed Taz’aran announced:

“Furst pick was always mine and I’ll haf her. Carv, ye snag one of ’em older ones and do yer munching, but outta sight. As fer the rest of ya... Slink, grab their stuff and ye scan em good – they might be hiden stuff in der bodies. Bloker, ye know what to do... ” – as he gave his underlings orders, the Taz’aran licked his lips, looking down at the still struggling under his boot Avern’a.

“No.”

Weapons at the ready they turned around; startled by this calm, yet supremely intimidating voice, the thugs then saw his owner and one of them quaked in his boots.

“This territory is mine, not boss Sickface’s.”

“What?! I don care who ye are – I will hear from our boss first, and then...” – He aimed his RBG at the cowled man, who stood only two steps from them.

“I am afraid that you will wait till the end of time, Taz’aran.”

Not only was the Taz’aran unmoved by this intimidating statement – he was also quick-witted. Seconds after his brain analyzed what the cowled man implied, a wide grin blossomed upon his mug. He examined the tall, robed figure standing before him, and noticed the most apparent lack of weaponry. Eyes squinted, he then took his time and carefully scoured the surrounding ruins. After the underling whom he called Slink checked his hand scanner and confirmed that the robed guy was indeed all alone, the Taz’aran stated:

“Well naw... If ye are saying dat Sickface is gone-gone, ‘tis me, Zamien, who owns the land. Mighty dumb on your part to come ‘ere unarmed, pajama man. We are four, armed to the faceplates men, an ye is all alone.”

The mage slightly canted his masked head to the right, sighed and then, with annoyance laded voice, stated:

“Three.”

It took the new “boss” one glance to notice that the burliest of his underlings was now weaponless, on his knees, and quivering. The otherwise impossible to scare Taksian spewed out incoherent, laden with pure terror mumbles:

“Tale Death... many voices... I listen... the light... see screams... feel His power...”

“Whateva cheappo tricks ye used on Bloker – I assure ye, ye will pay!” – Startled but not afraid, Zamien spat out with contempt, his weapon still trained at the teal figure.

“Please... spare me, oh Cowled One! For I was a fool, a blind sinner... only now, before my end... I see...” – The Taksian’s muscular hands were clasped together as if praying to some alien deity, while he addressed the cowled man.

“Don matter, I still haf two men beside me which makes three beam guns aimed at yer gob. Won even haf to riload – ye is just sum teal pajama-wearin trickster.”

“Guns you have, but not men.” – Snorted the mage, his empty right hand now stretched, and pinky finger pointing at the Taksian, he uttered:

“One.”

“Wat is dat he’s doen boss, eiyyy?” – Snarled the Jaern, loaded snub gun in his right, the curved vibroblade still in his left hand.

“Nothien! Juss waven hes fingers, but all scawy like... dat’s hes doen.” – Chuckling said the pistol carrying man.

Slink, who showered the mage with scanning beams from his hand-held device, showed the empty holo-screen to his boss.

“It was finished since the very moment I appeared behind you, Taz’aran. I merely made one last minute correction...”

The mage lowered his empty hand and crystal eyes glinting, added:

“It is over.”

“YE is ovar!” – shouted Zamien, pulling the trigger.

Instead of spewing a hail of red particle-beams, his otherwise impressive-looking weapon gave out a mechanical cough, followed by a loud click. His two underlings immediately followed up, yet after pulling the triggers, their weapons acted very much the same.

Zamien hurriedly dropped his useless RBG and stepped back, giving the struggling Avern’a a chance to crawl away. He and Slink unsheathed their vibroblades, while the Jaern made a step forward, intent on slaying the mage with his curved weapon.

To do more, the three thugs simply had no time.

They fell on the ground screaming, chunks of flesh falling off their bones, followed by “rags” of coagulated blood. Even liquefied innards were dripping through the gaps of their armored suits. Soon, the three had nothing to scream with, yet their bodies twitched as what was left... disintegrated.

Voice echoing across the ruined causeway, the mage called:

“Approach and arm yourself... if you choose to do so.”

The three who looked and whom he compelled to follow, they now had a choice. Absolutely terrified they were, yet one of the men made a step forward on his own accord, and was soon followed. They did exactly what the mage had suggested and soon stood nearby, clutching bloodied weapons in their shaking hands.

The cowled one then helped all women up; a mere minute after, they felt much better. Despite the beating they’d suffered, these otherwise harrowed by life females found all of their wounds healed. Not only were all of their ailments gone, but so were their scars!

“Tell me Taksian, what sins have you committed? Hast thou taken other people’s property, murdered, raped... ?”

No longer shaking, the mountain of a man raised his head and looked at the mage. Voice stern and without hesitation, after one long look at his ex-comrade’s remains, he spoke:

“I had stolen, yes... I took from those I killed – all of them criminals, like myself. But I never... I didn’t...” – His tear-filled eyes darted from one woman to another, before the Taksian added in a much graver tone:

“My greatest sin is that I... I stood by... and... I closed my ears, shut my eyes...”

“How many times?”

“O-o-once, oh Great Cowled One.”

“Is she alive?”

“Yes, I... she lives... I helped her escape... I...”

“Then my judgment of you was correct, and I rightly spared your life, Taksian. This is how you will atone for your sins.” – The mage made a motion, pointing at the water dripping pipe.

He then looked straight inside, whispered a set of words in his mysterious language and stepped aside. There was an echo, a shrill boom coming from the pipe; the basin shook, small debris and pieces of concrete fell in the crusted, foul stinking mud.

Then, suddenly, clear water burst out of the pipe!

“You are to protect this place and all the suffering people who live in it. You will make sure that no one is molested – that the old, the infirm, and the weak are safe. This is how you will achieve your atonement, Bloker. The thug is no more... rise a guardian!”

“Master, I will do what you commanded!” – The burly man enthusiastically blurted out after he stood up, rifle in hand.

“No, you will do what you judge to be proper.” – and the mage canted his head to the left before adding – “You are your own master, Bloker. Just as you always were, just as you should strive to be from now own. Your choices define not only thine future, but many others.’”

“I will obe...” – for a few star-seconds Bloker observed the people around him, who were stumbling, hands full of clean water, and changed his tone – “learn from your sage advice and grow, Cowled One.”

The three who witnessed – they soon abandoned their hesitations, took control of their terror and joined the Taksian.

The mage moved out of the rushing in their hundreds, thirsty people’s way, while holding the young woman’s hand. When they were a few dozen feet away from the quickly filling with water basin, she spoke hectically:

“My name is Reia and I am... I... I was the lore keeper of my community. I left my bunker and traveled across the dried lakes, so I can find someone of great power. That man the travelers said, he came from nowhere and wielded mysterious magics. These rumors spoke of you Mage, otherwise known as Teal Death or Cowled One.”

She made a pause, looking auspiciously around and then checked her ravaged attire.

“There is a place in these parts – a ‘laboratory.’ It is run by a brutal Vaugn Matriarch named Senis. She is a ‘geneticist,’ one who uses my people as mere lab specimens, to be experimented upon and then discarded when her goals are met.”

After a few seconds of hesitation, the woman removed her rags, eyes locked at the yellow crystals. Her rescuer canted his head slightly to the left while she spoke, and sighed before she stated with a much sterner voice:

“I have nothing to trade with, not a single valuable item to bargain for your services, except me. I will pledge myself to you, become your servant, your... concubine. In exchange, I ask you to help me save my little brother, who is one of Senis’s lab ‘experiments.’”

The mage slowly raised his hand and then placed it on her shoulder. He then repeatedly canted his head and sighed, this time much louder, before asking:

“Reia, why do you assume I would take advantage of you?”

“B-b-but, I have nothi...” – Stuttered the used to dealing with reprobates young woman.

“First of all – I am a man, not a degenerate. Second, you mentioned that you were a lore keeper, therefore,” – his finger pointed at her forehead – “you do have plenty of valuables to trade with.”

“I propose the following deal. You will share with me the oldest songs in your possession and I... I will escort you to that laboratory. Wait – how do you intend on liberating your kid brother?”

“I plan on offering...”

“Yourself in exchange for his freedom?” – stopped her with his question the mage.

“Yes, that is what...”

“No, I will not exchange one victim for another. There is a better, much safer way to free your brother.”

“But how?! No matter how powerful, you are one person and this Matriarch – she has a small army of alien mercenaries under her beck and call! Do you have an army?” – Reia said with a shaky voice; her body tired beyond measure from the arduous trip.

“No.” – Calmly answered the mage, prudently covering her shaking body with a cloak, which he produced seemingly out of nowhere.

“She may have her army, but I know a Knight.”

* * *

This is a chapter from my first short story collection, A Mandate Of Sword And Railgun.