A Mandate Of Sword And Railgun

Mage

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Part 1

From Darkness to Light

Darkness.

It almost felt physical to those who walked forth, constantly surrounded by it. With every hesitant step, their soles sunk deep into a carpet of age old dust and debris. Beams of light coming from their helmets sliced the darkness, revealing the mummified, bony remains of previous explorers. Yet, a fraction of a second after their headlights helped them see ancient walls and dilapidated corpses, the dark reconquered its domain.

Built in a bygone age, the gloomy corridors of this mausoleum radiated pure terror. With shattered bones, the cadavers’ unmoving mouths avowed ghostly words. They warned those who, just like they once foolishly did, disturbed the sanctity of this structure. Their words promised the newly-arrived that they will rot away quietly, dust their eternal companion.

The new visitors ignored them and, seemingly undeterred, moved deeper into the all-encompassing darkness.

The men slowly walked forward, and while three of them had their weapons ready, itchy fingers on the trigger, their unarmed companion lingered aback. Hands crossed before his chest, this tall sentient had adopted a pace more akin to the gingerly stroll of a relaxed tourist, rather than someone descending into the depths of an ancient tomb.

While the three wore lightly armored suits and in their hands clutched high-powered particle-beam weapons, the robed man carried nothing. On second glance, one would experience great trouble, noticing anything even resembling modern gear on his person.

Clasped in dark teal cowl, his hidden behind an intricately crafted, ornate silvery mask eyes, calmly explored his surroundings. The cowl’s hood moved not and remained firmly in its place, covering both his head and shoulders. Even the occasional gust of wind which came and went with an ominous whistle, blew dust all over the man’s companions, but failed to disturb his pristine robes.

From time to time, the other three would stop; stricken with minor panic, they’d attempt to overcome some ancient trap, before their cowled companion would act.

Chants uttered in unknown language, words which they couldn’t know the meaning of, even after all their G-Net searches, would leave the man’s lips. Then, as if his recitations bent the laws of nature, matter, and space itself, with but a wave of his hand said trap was disabled.

Bombs, mines, and even hidden, swift moving vibroblades – everything was as deathly as its Avern’a builders crafted it, ages ago. Yet, thanks to their companion, the men overcame every ancient contraption, and bypassed all, even the most terrifying of traps.

Weapons ready to fire, the three men explored every dark corner; looking, searching for some invisible threat. Their high-tech goggles all set, and hopefully able to provide them with a warning, before any of the tomb’s ethereal guardians strike. Though despite their rigid, constant alertness – none of the fabled ghostly warriors leapt at them from the dark.

Legs careful not to disturb the rotten, dilapidated remains of the tomb’s previous visitors, the four braved ever deeper into the dark. They passed other rooms, their doors blasted open by use of explosives or beams, some even hacked with vibroblades.

Moving with a purpose the men ignored everything; even though there were many, and arguably still usable items rolling on the dusty floors. Weapons of every size, backpacks overflowing with olden gear, spare munitions, even food. Most of the rations were packed in portable stasis units and still edible, after who knows how many decades lying in the dust.

Despite all of this easy to access loot, the men did not halt. They even made attempts to not look, obviously eager to locate a place of greater importance. One full star-hour passed and then two more ebbed away, before the men reached their destination.

A gate made of white metal barred their way; its two wings tightly closed. Covered by intricate etchings, the meaning of which eluded all but one of them, it appeared thick, and overwhelmingly sturdy.

It was apparent to even the daftest of persons, that the particle-beams of simple rifles would not penetrate it. Nor would the small breaching charges, which one of the armed men carried with him, blow a big enough hole through it. At best the bombs could bend metal, and at worst... collapse the ancient tunnel on top of their heads.

The cowled man canted his masked head; eyes shielded by yellow crystal, he observed how the three scanned and then cursed the white door. It didn’t take long before they exhausted all of their options and the burliest of them turned around.

“You try and open the gate, mageling!” – Rumbled angrily the man, loudly speaking his words in some rather obscure, disjointed Taz’aran dialect.

The “mageling” remained silent; his clasped in dark teal robes body moved not, nor did the man respond to his companion’s rude order.

“Open it this instant, or I swear by the Most Holiest of Darknesses, you will get not one decat!” – Again shouted the armed with assault rifle man, this time dangling a hefty-looking purse in the air.

At first, the man’s only reaction was to cant his cowled head the other way. Then, the golden eye crystals shielding his eyes flickered ominously, their irises glinting thrice.

One of the armed men could swear that for a single star-second, their companion’s cowl shimmered. But, after his goggles showered the robed figure with scanning beams and found nothing, he thought it was his own, tired eyes, playing tricks on him.

Hands no longer resting on his chest, the masked man pointed at the white gate, saying:

“Then stand aside and let me earn my pay, shootlings.”

Angrily mumbling under his nose, the one who addressed him first made a single step to the left, immediately followed by his comrades.

“Better move to the gate’s right side.” – Whispered the cowled man, his voice laden with ill-concealed annoyance.

“Why? I will go wherever, mageling. Remember that it is you who works for us, not the other way around!” – The rifle carrying thug spat through his crooked, rotting teeth.

Even for a battle scarred Taz’aran, the man looked unsightly. His clumped, unkempt hair and lesion covered green skin, gave him the appearance of a plague victim. Face adorned with multiple, oozing puss scars, even the skin around his cybernetic eyes sported a painful-looking rash.

Certainly not a man well enough to brave the dangers of ancient dungeons, but rather quietly recuperating in a hospital bed.

Up until now, the men had the faceplates of their suits shut since they feared inhaling poison gas. With so many traps lying around, it was a choice most prudent. In olden tombs like this one, even breathing the moldy air itself could cause severe harm. Now, after their surroundings had been so thoroughly scanned, they felt safe enough to gaze upon the dark with their own eyes.

“Do you want me to disable the device which lay there, or open the gate? I will, of course, charge you extra since this is a dangerous trap. If I was you, I’d decide quickly – you are paying me by the hour, remember?” – Stated their robed companion, seemingly unperturbed by the armed man’s unruly manner.

With masked eyes he observed the Taz’aran’s immediate change of heart. Then, gently canted, his cowled head followed the men moving to the right. Even though they did look rather unnerved and their boss outright angry, the three listened to him.

Fingertips pointed at the gate, the masked man uttered one of his chants.

It lasted considerably longer, this recitation. Some words he whispered, others he spoke softly, and those he shouted – they reverberated from the walls. Soon the three heard a lot of these words again, who after echoing from the ancient stones, flew through the air and came back.

Yet, however long it took for the sound waves to travel, everything sounded exactly the same. This was not how echo worked, but then again – their companion was a mage.

Then, after his last word was spoken and heard twice, came deafening silence.

More than a few, long star-minutes ticked away and nothing happened. The armed men heard debris rolling on the floor and then the wind... screeching. It was as if all those who died exploring this deathly tomb were wailing, lamenting their grizzly fate.

Before the Taz’aran boss could spit out another ill-conceived statement, the gate moved. Slowly at first, gently, the two wings eventually opened, picking up one rather huge cloud of ancient dust. With bated looks the three watched, their headlights switched on full power and ready to explore the chamber before them.

They expected this undisturbed, locked place to be filled to its brim with treasure. However, what they witnessed before them after most of the dust had settled, was a corpse filled room. Indeed, there were big chests in all corners of the chamber and a large, stone sarcophagus, placed on a pedestal in its center. Their eyes and scanners hungrily searched for the fabled riches of this place, yet saw none.

The otherwise sturdy treasure chests were either blown up, shot by particle-beams or their lids sliced open with vibroblades. Then there was the imposing-looking sarcophagus, it too, obviously unlocked, its occupant relieved of his funerary gifts.

Everything of worth had been long since looted – mayhap ages ago!

“I expect you to honor our contract, Taz’aran. The bargain was for five thousand platinum decats, if I could guide you safely through the traps. Plus three thousand more – one thousand for each hour spent here, watching your backs, keeping you safe from the tomb’s guardians. I did my duty and expect to be paid, in full.” – The hooded man whispered, tire sneaking in his voice, hand stretched and waiting.

“YOU...” – the Taz’aran aimed his beam rifle at the calmly waiting robed figure – “You knew how to open the chamber! You knew that it was empty, didn’t you?!”

“Me supplying you with information wasn’t part of our deal.” – While his outstretched hand remained so, something underneath the hood clicked.

The holo of them sitting across a wide table was projected on the dusty floor.

“The deal is – you guide us safely through the traps, mageling. We need to get deep inside the tomb and reach this location.” – The Taz’aran’s gruff voice, words spoken in his disordered dialect could clearly be heard by everyone.

After his statement, the boss’s PDA projected a small map above the table, while his armed companions shielded everything from view.

“You don’t require me to do anything else, but guide you there?” – The Taz’aran and his people nodded in agreement to his query, but he continued:

“You are absolutely sure, that...”

“Yes, yes, I am absolutely sure, mageling! Five thousand decats, plus one thousand per hour, if you can keep us safe with your magics. Do we have a deal?”

The masked man sighed, canted his head and then said:

“We have a deal, Taz’aran.”

Then there was another click and the holo phased away, leaving him still standing, hand in the air and awaiting payment.

Unobstructed by his faceplate, the boss’s twisted face changed colors – from pale green to light blue. Shaking, he breathed angrily a couple of times, gnashing with his rotten teeth. Then, after he glanced at his coin purse, a vile smile adorned his puss-oozing, ugly mug. He made a quick hand sign, which was recognized by his underlings, and then filled his lungs with air.

“Darkness take you!” – Bellowed out the boss and since his rifle was already aimed at their guide, fired.

He was immediately joined by his foot soldiers, who unleashed a torrent of particle-beams, most hitting the cowled figure without fail. Some of their weapons fire did splash around the target, leaving one big ball of dust and charged particles floating in the air.

The barrels of their weapons red hot, slagged power packs hit the floor; their clank soon joined by a choir of contemptuous laughter. They didn’t even reach for their spares and kept chuckling, until one of them, the man who almost saw their guide shimmer, pointed out:

“Boss, I don’t see his body! Where is he?!”

The cloud of charged dust had settled, yet instead of blasted to gory chunks corpse, where the cowled man stood there was nothing. Not even a piece of his clothing, a limb or drop of blood.

On second glance – there weren’t even footprints left in the dust.

Now their hands were shaking and not with anger, but something else – fear. Quickly, the men reached for spare power packs and as they hastily reloaded their weapons, one of them looked around. He blinked supremely confused since the opened white gate behind them was no more. Instead, there was an empty, dust fulled corridor and his throat choked by fear, the man was unable to scream.

There, two feet above the dust, his teal robe fluttering, floated their guide!

Crystal eyes aglow with golden light, his outstretched hands moved with a swift, slashing motion. Invisible energies hit the three men and cut them down with ease. Gory innards and chopped bodies hit the floor, blood seeped into the thick layer of olden dust. No longer glowing hot, particle-beam weapons rolled nearby, still grasped by their mangled limbs.

The robed man, his mask the only source of light in the dark, slowly floated away. No sooner than his golden halo waned in the distance and a door made of white metal appeared. Closed shut, its beautifully crafted surface undamaged, for a short while many of its ancient markings – they too became aglow with light.

Touched by the cowled man’s presence, the white gate awoke.

Whispers echoed in the dark, gentle recitations and sublime melodies, ageless songs sang themselves, yet there were no ears to listen. The faces, weapons, and spaceships of olden heroes appeared, floating before the gate, yet there were no eyes to see. Waves of invisible, laden with memories energy spread across the corridors, yet there were no souls to feel.

The olden construction stood many feet away from the spot, where the Taz’aran and his underlings lay dead. It didn’t take long for the disturbed dust to settle and cover their hewn remains. Then the ancient odes, poems, and hymns carved in honor of those who sacrificed so others could live, flickered. The light which followed their lines ebbed away, the songs quieted, and the white gate became dead silent.

Darkness, the eternal guardian of all ancient dungeons took over. The Avern’a who quietly rested in this tomb since ages past, their remains and possessions were safe once more. Like many others before them, the three would-be grave robbers quietly rotted, ancient dust their only companion...

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