A Mandate Of Sword And Railgun

Mage

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4

Evocations and Revelatons

People.

One always had to deal with lots of rather tough, defiant people, when they attempted to conquer their planet or enact the deliberate genocide of its populace. The more one pushed, the harder these people would push back. That is, until either their invader gets the message or the invaded are crushed into oblivion.

This was what had almost occurred here on Avern’a. Most of the locals also realized it on a deeper level, yet they vehemently refused to acknowledge their defeat. Unwilling to embrace their demise, instead they resisted and fought with redoubled ferocity. For centuries, the men and women of Avern’a struggled, using every means available to them and to the last drop of blood.

If your people stood upon the precipice of doom, how would you explain to your children that there would be no tomorrow?

In this titanic struggle the Avern’a were not alone; for when monsters came knocking on your door, there was always someone who’d help brace it. During the centuries, countless billions of adventurers, mercenary groups, and even entire private armies descended down to their planet. Mega corporations, militant Universalist orders – they all came here with the hope of helping the Avern’a in their fight.

However, there was one thing common among all of these different groups – they weren’t acting together. Every single time when one liberation force deployed on Avern’a, they did so alone. Yes, sometimes they were of significant size and power, but theirs was not an action meticulously planned and coordinated with another group.

It was as if all of these valiant sentients suffered from the exact same type of deficiency – the belief that it would be their heroic band alone, who would make the difference. A rather naive way of thinking, which would cost them their freedom and lives, in the end.

Millions of these aliens were sacrificed on curst altars of The One by his fanatical Jaern priestesses. Millions more sold into slavery; their existence transformed from a noble quest to liberate others, into the hopeless strife of an enchained slave. Then there were the millions who survived – their flesh broken, minds scarred, and souls flayed by the death of hope.

These leftovers desperately fought the Jaern and their allies, still. They sought to free their kidnapped companions, while struggling to survive the hellish landscape that was Avern’a Prime. Few lived to see their comrades alive and most died alone, forgotten, their remains rotting away on the bottom of a crater, a ruined tunnel or a cave.

This was a cave, a crumpled tunnel network and yet, instead of rotting, these adventurers were very much alive. Most were men, but there were plenty of women and young teens, many armed with rifles. Only token few carried old RPGs, mounted Terran-made railguns and only one of them – an anti-material laser weapon.

The mercs among them wore damaged armored suits; ranging from light, medium, and a number of heavy ones, these could offer only a modicum of protection against enemy fire. But... when your life is on the line, little is way better than nothing.

Their alien faces greeted the mage with tired smiles; some displayed signs of recent injury or illness, yet none showed despair. Holed in this forgotten tunnel system were about a hundred or so ex-adventurers and mercs. Not only all of them were armed, but it would seem that they had enough combat supplies and were ready to fight.

Reia was not surprised that their car was not fired upon – after all, the Cowled One stated that they were waiting for him. That and he sent them a coded message, a holo-sign which the desperate survivors and he had agreed upon beforehand. Their Volga stopped for half a minute; its projector displayed a holographic bird, flying high above one crater in particular. It was the same winged animal a metal figure of which adorned their hood.

The very thought that this powerful person knew and kept in touch with a group like this, piqued her Loresinger’s curiosity. Yet, to ask her questions now would not be wise and she decided to wait. The day was coming to an end, they had to rest for the night. While she grew up, the best time to talk and share stories was during their evening imagine-meal.

Their Volga slowly drove around a number of hidden positions, vehicle traps and even minefields. Everything was shown on the car’s sensor screen and not once did the mage hesitate when he navigated through those. Ten minutes after they passed through these defenses, their machine entered a well-hidden cave entrance. At first glance it did look like a cave, yet she knew that was the ancient underground irrigation network.

Some paces inward, the remnants of a gate lay; mangled, these slabs of whitish metal still bore markings and olden numbers. Illuminated by their vehicle’s headlights, Reia slowly read what was left of those, aloud:

“May ...is water recla... be in service to all noble farmers in... Eternal glory to the enginee... and the architects... Peace a... creation... Life eter...”

The young woman felt a lump in her throat and stopped reading; eyes watering, her lower lip trembled. “Life eternal” was her people’s ancient good wish, words friends and family would greet each other with or say before they parted ways. Those were not spoken since the first attack, when the Jaern invaded and everything came crushing down on Avern’a heads. Odes passed from one Loresinger to another promised that those who finally saw their planet freed, they would once more say these words.

Their car slowly drove through the entrance and deeper inside; there was a wide area, ahead of them, partially filled with debris. The ceiling was high and still stood intact, not one crack visible on it, a testament to the mastery of these long dead engineers and architects. Thanks to the powerful headlights, Reia noticed a number of vehicles parked among the debris.

Some were small, the size of a civilian car, but others towered above their Volga. These were the trucks which the Cowled One mentioned earlier. Twelve of them, their hulls covered with scrounged, makeshift armor-plating, an odd machine gun or beam nest here and there. Every single one of these grav-vehicles showed its age... its quality. Their bent and scraped chassis looked-like thousands of sentients fought either riding inside or against them, then attempted to repair their long-suffered hulls.

But it was after Reia and the mage exited their car, when they saw real damage. The operators of these vehicles slept, ate and otherwise lived around them. Most if not all wore terrible scars, had lost limbs and strutted painfully around on their makeshift cybernetics. Their eyes showed much more than the phantom pain of lost limbs, replaced organs or grafted metal bones.

For many years Reia watched how boys, as soon as they reached the age of eight, left their bunker and joined the fight. Sometimes one or another of her childhood friends would return, their bodies maimed. Her duty as a girl was to tend to their wounds, but she could never mend their broken minds and heal their shattered souls. Whenever she looked into their eyes, and beckoned them to return from the realm of the dead, they’d simply gaze through her as if she wasn’t there...

The exact same look Reia noticed in the eyes of these truckers.

One alien, very similar to Avern’a, but not quite the same, approached them. More often than not, her people had pale greenish skin, hair in dark shades of blue and pinkish eyes. Reia was somewhat of an exception since her mother carried the old and still intact genes of a now gone sub-race of Avern’a. As a child, she thought that being different was her curse, a terrible weight upon her shoulders, a sign which forever marked her as “top quality slave material.”

However, this man stood out like a sore thumb among all the aliens. He would do even more so if there was a crowd of Reias’; the contrast between their dark hair and his would be striking. The man’s short, bright golden hair and crystal blue eyes already gave him a unique look, but it was his scarred, pale white skin which was most striking to her.

“Is it time, Teal Death?” – The man’s powerful voice boomed, instantly waking up those few who tiredly napped around the camp fires.

“Yes, Sam. Time has come for you and your truckers to fight.” – The mage made a motion towards Reia – “She knows where the ‘laboratory’ is.”

Sam looked at her with his blue eyes, smiling, yet when she searched for pain inside them, Reia recoiled in confusion. There was suffering and much hurt, yet this man was in control, not his trauma. It would seem that he did something which her people weren’t capable of – the alien crushed his own terrors and then turned them into helpful tools.

“When?” – Sam’s fingers grasped his belt and squeezed with such force, that she heard how the leather crackled.

“On the morrow, for I need the night to center myself, restore my magics.” – Only now did she realize how tired the Cowled One’s voice sounded.

“My people will assault that hellhole with everything we have.” – Sam looked around slowly, his eyes examined both people and weapons, finally stopping on the nearest truck.

“They will not do so alone, Sam. The Knight will lead their way and so would I.”

“Sir Bennett is joining us?! Then we will most definitely live to see another day! Universe willing, our loved ones too...” – The man took a deep breath and then shouted:

“Drivers, check your gear and ready the trucks! Make sure that meds and spare power packs are all within reach. Medics, prepare yourselves to witness horrors beyond your wildest imaginings. If you desire to weep, do so now, for tomorrow many patients will require your undivided attention. Then, as soon as your preparations are completed, go to sleep...”

The mage observed how the men and women sprung into action. Quickly, everything that Sam had ordered to do, they did and then either climbed their trucks or lay in sleeping bags beside the fires. There was one newly lit fire nearby and, after checking upon what his people did, Sam sat there, on a small crate.

The Cowled One went back to the Volga, opened its rear doors and pressed a lever. The backseat flipped open and he picked up the two suitcases which lay underneath. Reia had never seen cases so colorful and strangely shaped; they had comfy carrying handles and a big, blue apple painted at their center.

Before he sat next to her, the mage gave these suitcases to Sam, stating:

“These rations are for your people. It is all I have since the last package I requested from Applecrate didn’t come through.”

While Sam checked their contents, the Cowled One produced a self-heating ration pack seemingly out of nowhere and gave it to Reia. The chief trucker speedily walked from campfire to campfire distributing the rations, leaving them alone.

She held the pack with one hand and hungrily gulped her saliva – it felt so heavy, this ration! Moreover, there was a beautiful polyplastic spork attached to it, neatly wrapped in transparent vacfoam so it wouldn’t get dirty. Reia did not expect that after so many evening imagine-meals, one day she’d actually get to sleep on a full belly.

“See that dotted line? The ration’s zipper cut is there. Good, now pull the cord and wait till it cooks...”

The mage gave her instructions, even though she saw the ration pack had neat pictures, which described every step. It took only three minutes for the ration’s contents to self-cook and then carefully, slowly, she took a bite.

“This is meat, potatoes, and mushroom curry – Applecratean specialty. If you see blue bits in there, don’t be startled and eat them. Those are their most delicious, famous big apples.”

Reia was correct to eat slow. Since hunger was the Avern’a’s eternal companion, they were used to eating scrounged bits of food. Most of it was moldy or rotten, but if they were lucky, a soldier brought captured alien rations. That was a most rare occasion though and considered a feast for them. This food however, it was marvelous and overwhelmed her with its many flavors!

He waited for her to savor the meal and then gave Reia a canteen. Made from metal, the shiny item looked-like something which came out from one of her teacher’s stories. She unscrewed the cap, took one small sip of water, and noticed that the mage’s glowing eyes were studying her face.

“You keep it.” – he pointed at the canteen.

She sighed, her fingers still coming to grips with holding such a luxurious item. Reia looked at him and finally, everything moving at normal pace, she had time to study his mask. The lines were shallow, miniscule and rather intricate, yet she could only guess what their meaning was in his culture.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Indeed you may. Answering a few questions will not inhibit, nor slow the regeneration of my magics.”

“You... you are not from around here, aren’t you?”

He sighed and head canted to the left, in his now usual for her to observe manner, answered:

“I come from another planet, yes. I was born in an ancient land, a place my people call, this.” – he pronounced another incomprehensible for Reia word and seeing her reaction translated it – “The land of the free.”

He waved with his gloved hand and projected from his left eye, before her appeared the image of an ancient structure. It appeared to have been built by people who possessed high-technology, yet its design was more akin to how ancient Avern’a temples looked. Some of the stone blocks and slabs were of massive size and most if not all, interlocking. The place was beautiful, moreover, even by looking at a mere holo-slide, Reia could feel the tranquility it emitted.

“My mother was a great sorceress, and achieved many feats during her lifetime, she protected our people. Unfortunately, I was not born like her... as a matter of fact, I am quite different. Yet, my heart yearned to protect others, just like my mother once did. In my childhood I learned that one cannot protect, if one has no power or skill.”

“But you... you are of great power and skill! You bested all of these strong opponents, and with such ease. With but a few words, you commanded the ancient roads, you contro...”

He calmly raised his hand and she paused.

“Sorcery comes from within and is a power most natural for its user, yet I am mage and not natural.”

“What do you mean, ‘not natural’?” – Reia looked at him with great confusion in her eyes.

“I affect the world and those around me by force of evocation, one achieved through rigorous research and tireless study.”

“Then you’ve earned your magics with hard work and dedication!”

“I am fundamentally not that different than those who commune with the Link or the Star Witches. Being born with innate ability to control some force does not mean that everything would come to you without effort.”

“I’d like to know what is the nature of your powers. I am composing a song about you.” – After uttering her question, Reia attempted to remember the intricate lines, which covered his mask.

With him not answering immediately, it took her a minute to realize that these lines, they were moving! The mage’s right eye glinted and then he unleashed a bout of happy chuckle. It wasn’t in any way malicious, but sounded more like he was really content with something.

“Good! I would love to hear it when you finally forge that ode of yours, Loresinger. High time it is for your people to start creating once more. Forge all that was once broken, heal the aching lands and bring Life back to its rightful place.” – Said he and both his eyes gently shone; the soft, golden glow spread around him like a blanket made of tiny stars.

Then, after another quick snigger, the mage continued:

“I chant computations and evoke codes into being with the power of mysterious science, enabled by obscure technologies. I extract raw energy from words, shape it with numbers, and finally focus it by applying otherwise incomplete or unusable theorems. I am what people will one day call a Sciencer.”

Reia listened carefully and remembered his every word by applying her Loresinger’s skill. She then shaped words and tones inside her head, thought very carefully about what the Cowled One said. Forging this song was easy, natural; she heard a whisper through the Link, a voice which answered one of her near-forgotten childhood’s pleas.

“Cowled One, when my people attempt to create or repair, the invader always destroys. How is this time going to be any different?”

His head turned around and two glowing eyes met hers. The mage moved his hands like he was picking up something unseen, invisible and then the tiny glowing starlets vanished. It took him a few seconds to center, and then he spoke with a most serene tone of voice:

“Because this time, all invaders will die.”