Just reverence

Guardians

Index:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

This story is part of my first anthology book, A mandate of sword and railgun, and I intend to post all chapters on my Substack. If you like the story and want to support me, you can find the book here.

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Chapter 5

The village of Belazem was a mess.

Homes, repaired shortly after the Liberation, now stood in ruins. Muddy tracks between houses were turned into simple streets and then generously covered with gravel were now covered with dead bodies, gore, and soaked with blood. At first glance the deceased far outnumbered the living and Einar sighed a sigh of relief, when a hundred or so women and children emerged from their hiding places. They ran, while those who volunteered to die in their stead remained behind, put up a desperate resistance.

The mutilated body of their fellow Terran was recovered and after Holden gave him his last rites, buried in Belazem’s big cemetery. That place was absolutely ginormous, five times larger than the village itself! Einar helped with digging the grave and, just as Holden had warned him beforehand, the shovel hit more bones. One quick scan proved what the morale officer suspected – the entire cemetery ground was absolutely packed with bones. Thousands upon thousands of stillborn babies, little kids, and women who died during childbirth were its primary “occupants.”

Earlier this month, while they traveled in space, their ship’s pilot shared some information about Lothoria. The Spacer girl had to take deep breaths and make short pauses. She shared detail after horrid detail with them, yet back then, Einar couldn’t possibly process everything, let alone comprehend. To Lothoria’s “lords,” the general population was nothing else but chattel, expendable labor and, of course, something which they’d sell on the markets.

The “low-born” were not left with much after paying all the taxes. They suffered from generational malnourishment, hereditary diseases and died from simple illnesses or infections. Some of the “laws” sounded outright ridiculous to Einar, until he realized that these were malevolently designed to oppress, crush Lothorian spirits. The thing which made a most terrible impression to the Asgardian was the fact that women and little girls were forced to cut off their hair and keep it short. They used sharp rocks instead of proper razors, and in the process many of them died from infection. After talking with some of the locals, they claimed their old lords implemented this so their hair would not bother them as they labored on the fields...

Holden’s shaky hand lowered the scanner and after patting the soil of the bunny’s grave one more time, he slowly stood up.

“He did his Terran duty. Without him, there’d be many more dead and we wouldn’t have arrived just in time.”

Einar’s eyes scoured their grim-looking surroundings and unleashed another sad sigh.

“I spoke with many travelers on the starport, but even after they told me certain things, I am afraid that I was hesitant to believe.”

“Yes, people keep forgetting that we Terrans die every day, in order to protect places like this one.” – The morale officer’s hand pointed at still smoldering Belazem.

“All of this death, the suffering and destruction, only so they can loot Belazem’s nekhtu harvest. Otherwise, these parasites would be unable to feed themselves and their band of ‘holy warriors.’” – Holden’s eyes winced, after he explored the now not so distant fog.

“What do you think will the degenerates throw at us, Holden? Our defenses are literally non existent.”

“We have lots of advice in our Morale Officer Handbook, written exactly for cases like this one. Worry not Einar! Between my will, your iron muscle, and the indomitable spirit of Lothorian riflemen, we have plenty to throw back at them.” – Despite their morbid surroundings, Holden managed to crack a smile and nudged his companion.

“Remember all those piles of thick lumber we marched past? I think it will be easy for me to lug a bunch of them, if not most, and then build a wall.”

Einar calculated how heavy a load each of these piles were and with relative ease. Since he worked long years on the starport carrying containers or hauling luggage, many like him got the “loader’s eye.” In most instances, he could deliberate the approximate weight of bulk cargo, just by looking.

“That is a good idea. If you can build a thick rampart of moderate height, our riflemen would not only have the high ground, but even some protection against modern weapons. Crossbow bolts will probably not be an issue.”

The Asgardian looked at his leg and, after doing some measuring in his head, said:

“It is easy for me to lug normal trees and build some earthworks. The soldiers will help with their compact shovels and also carry smaller pieces of lumber. There are also plenty of rocks around, which we can use to reinforce certain positions.” – Einar then opened a simple map of the village on his PDA and outlined spots of tactical importance.

“We should check and see if our fallen brother has something useful in his toolkit. He’d be real mad if we didn’t...” – muttered Holden.

“He was one brave Terran, indeed. But what could an agricultural engineer and exobiologist pack in their luggage?”

“Maybe we will get lucky and find a hamster in his backpack. What would I give for even one squad of these deathly jokers!”

“I could use one section of Kil’ra Liberation troopers holding my flanks, but... a working plasma torch would do nicely.”

“We will do more planning and involve the villagers in our deliberation. If our enemy stalls for even a couple of days, these ramparts of yours will be one rather excellent morale crushing sight. Wouldn’t you think, Einar?”

“I wholeheartedly agree! Walls and especially thick, tall ones, have a certain effect on poorly led troops, I am told. Also,” – he pointed at a blood-soaked spot, leftover of that leht he killed – “walls work and are good at keeping slime like this from harming the innocent.”

“Let us gather everyone and hold a meeting in their still standing, empty village barn. Call our sergeant, corporal, and the platoon’s senior privates – they are the high-ranking officers, our command staff.”

Holden spoke without a shred of hesitation and sarcasm, for he really believed in them. He trusted in their abilities, had implacable faith that all Lothorian soldiers would fall dead, but never falter in their duty.

“Wait, I think we have a big problem here.” – Einar stopped dead in his tracks.

“Where or what exactly is that problem?”

“Me. Look at the barn Holden, just look at it...”

Indeed, the elongated building still stood erect, its walls solidly built, yet those who constructed it never imagined one of Einar’s stature walking inside. It had two large doors from each side, though both were wide as an epes cart and as tall as the adult Lothorian driving it.

The two Terrans lowered their heads and looked one from each side of the door, imagining different, creative ways how an Asgardian can enter. Locals hid all of their nekhtu harvest in various places, leaving the barn empty, to be used for other purposes. If their old lords wanted food, they’d have to scour the entire village and its surroundings, in order to find the stashes.

“Maybe I can lift the roof just a tad bit?” – Both looked at each other and canted their heads.

“I think our best bet is you lying next to one of the doors or crawling halfway through, Einar.”

It didn’t take long for the two hundred villagers and Lothorian soldiers to join them. No matter the fact that Holden and Einar joked for minutes before everyone gathered, in the end they found a way to accommodate the Asgardian. Unbeknownst to them, the barn had once a small, muscle powered crane on its second floor. After a couple of villagers climbed up and removed the wooden covering, he could comfortably lean, head and shoulders inside the barn.

The main enemy force was close, yet after they’d lost their scout element, their leader would probably exercise caution. It didn’t matter who this commander was; a priest of Rot or some overly-ambitious Lord’s Mage, both could be equally dangerous or stupid.

Einar, as someone with above than average knowledge of the various aliens who traversed this part of space, worried that it was actually some Narco officer in command. The priestly/wizardly figure was most probably a well-controlled puppet. The Cartels, he warned, were not to be underestimated since they had access to many more substances than simple, death inducing drugs.

Whoever that Lothorian overlord was, he or she had to die, the veteran sergeant ardently stated. Indeed, the Lothorian soldier was correct; with steel in his voice, Holden cited a couple of lines from his Handbook:

“Coexist with your enslavers, not! For their very presence is a blight upon your world and if left unchecked, that disease will spread once more. The Life-stealers, those who deny others a future – to annihilate them and their underlings is an act most holy! This will undoubtedly prevent others from suffering as you did, ensure the safety and provide a future for countless sentients.”

The villagers had hopeful gleam in their eyes, no matter the fact that many of them lost their entire families in the attack. The two hundred capable to help in various ways Lothorians were mostly women and children. Babies and elderly folk were not included in this number. Both were helpless; babes were too young to do anything at all and the elders were needed to take care of them.

What could the villagers do?

The few men among them, although not elders, were past their prime. They lacked any combat training, moreover, there were no weapons for them, even if they knew how to fight. Only a dozen of them, those who were in the best shape, picked zhatarns, broad shields and were tasked with guarding the babies. Last line before the fall they were not, as Holden eloquently stated:

“Fear not, reinforcements WILL come! This is just as sure as the sun rising every morning and its rays caressing your life-sustaining nekhtu fields.”

Einar, having lived on the starport for most of his young life, he had soaked up plenty of knowledge. The cargo foremen or women, he heard them giving directions, organizing complicated operations and leading a lot of workers. Willing to toil till they died the Lothorians were, and the Asgardian knew that. He explained his simple organization as follows:

“The soldiers and me will do the bulk of the heavy lifting. They will also dig all the entrenchments, moats and other earthworks. We can do this, because our bodies are trained, and we do not suffer from any ailments. Lothorians of Belazem, your contribution will be crucial! Organized in different shifts, you will use your three epes drawn carts to move earth from one place to another. You will supply the soldiers with water – make sure that they have plenty of it! Some of you will prepare food using the provisions your soldiers brought here in their backpacks. Others will be tasked with preparing a triage center – we will have wounded and many of them, soon.”

The little girl Einar saved stood nearby and after he gave more, detailed explanations, split people in different teams, she pointed her finger at Holden.

“What will the other Star Savior do while you build the walls?”

Smirking, Einar looked at his companion, raised an eyebrow and then stated:

“My companion is a morale officer. He will talk to all of you, address every concern that you have, and slay most of your fears. By speaking the Terran Word, and with his very presence, he will make our doubts vanish, we shall forget our tire and work harder.”

Holden also cracked a smile; face shining with confidence, he held the girl’s little hand and then complemented Einar’s statement:

“Those who use The Terran Word will not only inspire. Our duty as morale officers is to reinforce your minds and arm you with the strongest armaments there are – knowledge and truth! Then, we will teach you how to defend yourselves from the lies of oppressors, enslavers, and their vile underlings. They shall spew all sorts of lies in your faces; attempt to manipulate you back into obedience or outright crush your will.”

Einar’s smile grew wider; from his vantage point he could easily notice how the words of his companion instantly evoked a most positive reaction from all Lothorians present. The morale officer made a pause and his steely gaze crossed with everyone’s, before he continued:

“For you see, bending a Terran’s knee is one rather... problematic affair. It involves unhealthy amount of weapons fire, vibroblades, and even in some cases – orbital bombardment.”

“Come children,” – Holden walked towards the barn’s exit, the girl still holding his armored hand – “let me tell you a story. It is about another little girl; very brave, very determined to help her baby brothers and sisters. Yes, just like you did! Her name was Greta...”

After the morale officer left, followed by all the children, Einar’s voice echoed again:

“Take note, building and then reinforcing this wall will be of paramount importance for our survival. You all know what to do, Lothorians! Soldiers, inform your brethren of our plan and start digging the earthworks. I am going to grab as much lumber from the mountain trail, as I can carry. Go and be thorough, precise in all your endeavors – there is no room for error.”

He then carefully pulled his upper torso out of the barn and walked off. Those who still remained inside exchanged determined looks, and the villagers slowly readied to leave, follow their given tasks. The sergeant, veteran of the 1^st Lothorian Rifles, stepped into the center and raised his callus covered hand. In hushed voice he addressed them and with such eloquence, few peons or serfs ever heard another Lothorian speak:

“I think you all know what your ultimate duty is – guard the holy Terr’aans with your very lives! They might not wish it, even protest, but by ensuring their survival, Lothorian children will have a future. If need be, we must sacrifice ourselves for them, so that our world, our people might live free. The fake, degenerate ‘priests’ fed us vile lies for generations, my brothers and sisters! They required blind obedience, demanded serfdom, yet our mothers and fathers were rewarded with nothing but endless suffering, and death. Terr’aans and many other aliens believe that those who are upright and of good, those who sacrifice for one another, they will join their beloved fallen in holy Ascension. Many do not know if this is true, yet my heart tells me it is so.”

There was a very soldierly smile upon the sergeant’s steady, scarred face, while he added:

“Even if I should vanish into nothingness and no memory of whom or what I did remain after, I would’ve perished to save a life... to protect my people.”

He then calmly picked up his heavy rifle, shouldered it, and walked out. The villagers followed, one by one or in small groups, walking with haste and eager to get to work. No labor too hard or toil impossible, for they now worked for themselves and built their children a future.

* * *

Somewhere on a hill, shrouded in thick mist, there lay a big camp. At the center, surrounded by hundreds of leht, alien soldiers armed with beam weapons and towering warriors made of metal, stood a large tent. Inside, a charismatic man, clad in the trappings of the holy order of Rot, sat on a golden throne.

The royal relic which his priestly order saved and speedily evacuated, when the thrice cursed heretics invaded, desecrated their capital. Like many other holy items this now belonged to him, for he was the Prophet of Rot and soon, the new ruler of Lothoria.

Clasped in one hand he held a staff, which empowered his magic many times over. His head was adorned with Lothoria’s royal crown, yet another, powerful artifact of old. In his other hand, the Prophet held Rot’s crystal; within its depths slept a fraction of his God’s mind. Slowly, he was merging with it, and two minds would soon become one – a Godly Being.

Before him and on their knees were his two commanders. One was an alien; a member of the Coalition, which sent troops armed with technology to aid the Prophet’s priestly brothers.

His second officer was the last of Temple’s Grand Generals; the mighty leht was armored from head to toe in holy, blessed armor. He also wielded the long zhatarn, a weapon rumored to be capable of splitting stones with one strike.

The best part of his army was still gathering, yet the advance unit should be more than enough to overcome the enemy. Whatever puny defenses the heretics were occupying themselves with building, Coalition beam weapons would surely slice right through! The Prophet had watched the battle for Lothoria’s capital city, from a safe distance, of course.

He knew the furious might which these armaments possessed, them and the mechanical warriors which his ally had under his command. The tip of his staff burning with magic, he once again reinforced the fog, made it thicker and near impossible for the eye to pierce.

“When will this Coalition star chariot arrive, commander? Your Lord promised that his invisible warriors, these Jaa’ern will fight beside my leht.”

“No soon a day will pass, and they shall disembark within this very camp, my Prophet.” – Calm and collected, the voice of this alien was full of righteous reverence.

Good! Even the star people recognized his claim to the throne, his Godhood.

“Grand General, what say you – will your leht fight well after we bestowed the blessings of Rot upon their arms and armor?”

“Indeed they shall, my Prophet! We will secure all the supplies and then, our host will march up the mountain. Soon, the zhatarn of your warriors will taste Terr’aan flesh! After we capture their poorly defended castle, your Grand Army will then command the entire area. Then they will all come crawling, whine and beg on their bellies for water!” – Rumbled the general, who did possess great command skill and intelligence.

Hearing his words made the alien nod; during earlier strategy meetings, it was easy to see that both men respected their abilities. There was no foolish rivalry for Lord General Nedal, he only promoted those who fell in line, vicious and efficient leaders all of them. He, just as the Prophet himself, they need not petty, always scheming and groveling subordinates under their command!

“My General is correct – all Terr’aans must die! They are spreading across our star space like a cancer.”

“Rot lives in death!” – Boisterously chanted the general, one fist up in the air.

“Indeed, he has possessed the Prophet. Rot lives!” – Bellowed the alien, his protected by mechanics fist also erect.

“The heretics might resist, they may even kill some of our troops, but they are few. Nothing can stand against the righteous! It is my manifest destiny to rule over Lothoria and the peon’s lot is to toil. Once we have secured the Terr’aan castle, your Lord can come here in force and then Lothoria will fall before our combined might.”

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