Velin The Lothorian
Book 1, The Rifle's Song
Index:
Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
Chapter 3
Triumph of Life
“And so it turned out that these road bandits I shot earlier, they had indeed sent a messenger. One, in whose steps I ran and swiftly, after relieving his comrades of their water and provisions.” – Velin spoke calmly, a hand-made cup full of water in his hand.
He’d finally reached that oasis, three dozen Avern’a maidens in tow. Their grav-shackles and mag-chains removed, the girls eagerly helped him carry every bit of supply he found on the slavers. The damaged armored suits were abandoned to rot among the ruins, together with their owners, yet they grabbed all weapons and power packs.
Perhaps another could not imagine the strength which possessed freed slaves, but Velin knew, for he himself was one. The girls lugged everything without fail; food, water, ammunition, guns, and with happy smiles on their faces. Even though the trek was short, Avern’a wastelands were very much alike the deserts of Lothoria – dryer than a thousand star-year mummy.
“Among the bandits’ possessions was one device, which displayed a map of all nearby gang territories. This messenger of theirs was kind enough and led me to one of the slaver camps. Despite the presence of layered automatic defenses, these booby traps were old and in many cases, their energy or munitions long since depleted.”
Velin sipped from the clean, tasty water and smiled.
As soon as he and the freed girls arrived in this oasis, he was greeted by a towering alien. It didn’t take long for this guardian and his followers to understand who Velin was, why he trekked here, and what his goal was.
The Lothorian carried himself with pride, his tired face adorned by a smile most happy. Uniform dotted with Terran insignia and armed with a peerless railgun rifle, it was obvious whom he fought for. Moreover, he carried an important missive, destined for this oasis’s mysterious lord, given to him by a knightly Terran.
Now, mere minutes later, he sat inside their makeshift tavern, away from the scorching heat. A bowl of vegetable and fish stew on the table, and about a hundred people listening, eager to hear his story.
“While that bandit stumbled, leaving a trail of puss and blood, I, on the other hand, crawled. Through untended, decrepit minefields, the scanning arcs of beam guns, and starved of ammunition missile launchers.” – He said, drank the contents of his cup, and canted his head with visible frown on his face, before continuing:
“What soldier would leave all of their many, and otherwise deadly perimeter defenses to dilapidate in such a manner? No, I say to you, these cocksure parasites do not know what proper soldiering is! The slavers and their gangster allies have forgotten what it is to be prudent. This failing of theirs allowed me to take the best, most commanding firing position, and in the very center of their camp. The rest, as Terr’aans say, is history.”
While most of the people soon went about their business, the hulkish man who first greeted Velin, tallied behind. Similar, but not of the same species as the Taz’arans, this sturdy warrior’s face appeared at peace, and his eyes had an almost serene glint to them.
“I am one of the guardians of this oasis, a Taksian by the name of Bloker.” – The man’s voice boomed across the tavern, as he introduced himself.
They nodded heads, as it was customary across the Fringe and Bloker continued:
“Eat and drink your fill, fellow guardian! Since you are carrying a message for the Cowled One, the least we can do is feed you proper. I’ll introduce you to our Mage, later.”
“But,” – he made a short pause, after noting Velin’s empty holster – “mind telling me where is your sidearm? I understand you captured plenty of weapons from the slavers...”
Velin had already devastated half the stew; he patted his hip and smiled, before stating:
“First, I strongly dislike using the invader’s weapon. Not that I wouldn’t use them, had the need arise, but... I rather prefer a hallowed Terr’aan armaments of Peace at my side. To answer your question – I gifted my laser pistol to a fellow soldier. A brave Avern’a man who fought off bandits armed only with his sword.”
“What was his name?” – The Taksian asked, concern plastered all over his face.
“I was told that before turning thirteen, all Avern’a men are nameless.”
“How... many?”
“Five. I gave him the gun, and he bested them all by himself.” – Answered Velin after slurping the rest of his stew and raised the empty cup.
Another alien, the proprietor of this tavern, refilled the cup with crisp, clean water. From the looks of him, he was an older Taksian. Face covered with horrid scars, the elderly man nevertheless still had a charismatic smile, and his one eye looked upon Velin with calm. He said nothing, nodded politely and walked away, water pitcher in hand.
The Lothorian touched his face, mind trying to imagine what would these people here say had they saw his scarred body. Anticipating his question, Bloker looked the proprietor’s way and then explained:
“Many Taksians flee our insane government, myself included. He... he just didn’t run fast enough.”
“What is your government like?” – Asked Velin and emptied his cup in one go.
“It is a question for another time, perhaps. All I can tell you now is that us Taksians have to ask permission from the government to think.” – Somberly stated the Taksian and stood up.
“Now, I think it is time for you to meet the Mage. Follow me, soldier.”
* * *
The oasis, at first glance, appeared a dusty and desolate ruin, nigh void of sentient life, let alone growth of any kind. Yet, one casual look was not enough to unveil the renovated old constructions. Them or the vegetable gardens, verdant growth enabled by a constant stream of clean water, flowing from an ancient fountain. Its olden arc broken, the white metal which once paved the causeway ripped asunder, nevertheless this marvel of Avern’a architecture still evoked wonder.
Velin was slowly being overtaken with sadness, after imagining where would his people be now, had they not been oppressed for so long. The Terr’aans taught him of many other places like Lothoria; raped peoples and planets, where everything good was annihilated and life, sucked dry. Morale Officers kept reminding him that constant vigilance is most important, lest debased authoritarians and the mewling idiots who enabled their reign, return.
The Avern’a were greatly skilled, peace-loving people, and it showed.
Gardens full of green had been planted alongside the elongated, bombed to shreds basin. Small pipes delivered water, feeding the growth drip by life-giving drip. Many of the craters were turned into fishing farms; these terrible scars upon the face of this planet were now incubators of Life.
More than a dozen people carried water to those small patches of fertilized soil, which still lacked piping. Velin noticed that these men and women did indeed suffer horrendous pain for their dressed in patched, old clothes bodies, showed an abundance of scars. Once broken, these former slaves now sported calm, even happy facial expressions, despite the sweltering heat they had to work under. Moreover, their eyes were not hollow, but full of hope and purpose.
His guide stopped for a few seconds, marveling at the fresh vegetables growing in abundance and then beckoned Velin to follow.
Bloker’s tough stature was protected by a makeshift field armor, and he carried one rather heavy beam gun, strapped on his back. Many hand-made or scavenged power packs and grenades clanked on the man’s belt, plus a trophy Jaern-made PPG. The beastly gun was not even a sidearm, but some sort of a newly designed, short rifle. Bulky, because of its sizable heat sink, the weapon was best fit either for somebody of tall stature or exoskeleton assisted trooper.
Velin did not hide his wide grin; this place looked quite similar to his homeland. Though not fully liberated, there existed tiny enclaves like this one, havens for the persecuted and the enslaved. His orders were to assist its denizens to the best of his ability and join forces with like-minded others.
He was told by one of his teachers, that a Terran of great repute had arranged for many military units and even lone individuals, to be deployed here.
Velin was perhaps not a seasoned soldier, but he suspected that this was a move in preparation for some big operation. Glorious slaughter of slavers, debased bandits, and life-sucking parasites of all kinds, extraordinaire. The best thing – Velin was right in the middle of it, and his hands were itching to bring more life here. Either by denying said degenerates life or... planting it himself.
The Lothorian slowed his pace and hand reached for a small sack, which rested on a leather cord, tied around his neck. When time allowed, he, as a dutiful farmer’s son, would plant a good number of nekhtu seeds here. From what he’d so far seen, there was dry, yet fertile soil, crying for loving hands to tend her.
“Bloker, may I ask a favor?”
“You can ask more than a simple favor, soldier! You’ve spared so many the torturous life of sex slavery and people here will be more than happy to help you, in any way they can.”
Velin’s glove pointed at the furthest end of the elongated basin, where a wide patch of sandy dirt was being cleared of rubble.
“I carry the seeds of my home’s best plant. Easy to grow and very nutritious, the Nekhtu drinks less water than most crops. It will feed many...”
“Worry not, this will be arranged! Immediately after we talk to Teal Death, people will help you plant this wonderful Nekhtu of yours. They just need to clear the plot from rubble, first.”
They spent the rest of their trek trough the village in silence.
Most people were engaged in one activity or another; some restored certain small buildings, under the supervision of knowledgeable aliens. Others, as he saw earlier, planted, watered, or gathered crops, fished the fattest of fish from their ponds. There were counted few, who, armed with looted particle-beam rifles, snub guns, or carbines, patrolled the village perimeter.
They reached a small, elongated white starship, which lay at the very center of the village. Atmospheric wings folded, the vessel was clearly of alien craft and sported mysterious devices, such that Velin could not identify. One thing, however, was unmistakable for one such as him – powerful Terr’aan laser cannons. Installed two by two in their oblong turrets, which were quite peculiar to begin with, these appeared to be modified for rapid firing.
Velin felt uplifted the closer he got to that starship and eventually forgot his tire. When Bloker’s hand reached for the door controls, he noticed tiny golden lights floating in and around his body. Many and powerful were the feats this Mage was capable of, and Velin simply shrugged, while his mind marveled upon this wonder.
Words whispered in an unknown to most sentients language, greeted them when they entered. Velin heard and at first, could hardly believe his ears, yet it was so. Spoken by a stern, incredibly calm voice, this appeared to be an ancient Egyptian prayer!
Soon, he witnessed the one who spoke and heard more, intended for him words, a wondrously concealed whisper within a whisper:
“They must not know, for their liberation is yet to begin.”
Before him stood a tall, masked figure, clad in a teal robe. This was, undoubtedly, the Mage or how many people called him – The Cowled One. Under the ornate, silvery mask, shielded by yellow crystal, his eyes flickered once and Velin’s mind felt greatly empowered. His own eyes could, albeit for a few seconds, see the flow of energy enabled by sound prayer and hieroglyph incantation.
Golden lights fluttering everywhere, shrouding, protecting everyone and everything.
Velin’s almond shaped eyes blinked – his mind overflowed with tranquil, his life purpose reinforced. The Lothorian’s reforged into megasteel will emboldened once more, he was filled with learning of places, monsters, and abused people in needed of saving. With a wide grin, Velin gently nodded, acknowledging the Mage’s aid.
Bloker bowed at the robed man, hands clasped before his chest and, after this one silently blessed him, the Taksian left. Velin felt that it was prudent to introduce himself first:
“Greetings, oh benevolent Mage. I am Velin, son of Mir, a Lothorian soldier who brings you an important missive from the Terr’aan Knightly Order.”
From a pocket in his uniform, Velin produced a small crystalline chip and respectfully offered it to his host. Teal Death gracefully gestured with his gloved hand, held the chip for a second, and from his left eye an image was projected.
At first letters from an unknown Terran language and then much more; pictures of places, machines, names and holo-slides of aliens. The projection vanished and soon, the chip too, transformed into yet another of the many golden lights, indistinguishable from the rest.
Velin gasped.
“Transporting a data-pack containing important information draws less attention. It is much better to do so, than uploading it by way of wireless networks or comm links.”
“But the chip! I held it in my hand and... it felt real to the touch.” – Eyes full of wonder mumbled Velin.
“The science of Light offers access to many abilities, all of which quite... natural. I allowed you to see the Glow. Know this, Lothorian!; a day will come, when you’ll witness the true power of word over matter, sound over debased magics, and will over corrupted telepathic might.”
“My teachers, those who taught me the Terr’aan way, they said you asked for soldiers.” – Velin’s wonder made way for stern determination and he avowed his intent:
“Here I am, ready to water this planet’s tortured soil with the blood of her invaders.”
“Avern’a will help all who fight for her freedom, even those not of her kin.” – Stated the Mage and his right hand pointed at Velin’s empty holster:
“You gifted your precious armament of Peace to embolden another freedom fighter. Life-saving intent must be rewarded and richly so, therefore, I shall make sure that your holster doesn’t stay empty for long.”
Teal robes fluttering, the Mage ceremonially waved his hand in the air, before shouting:
“Reia, please come to me, and ready for travel. Rejoice Loresinger, the soldier I requested for has finally arrived!”
There was a shuffle Velin heard, which came deep from inside the ship. Then, a pair of quick feet ran across a corridor and not a minute had passed before one exquisite-looking young woman appeared before him.
Clothed in a one piece, hooded cammo-suit, her body was toned, pale green skin clean and without blemishes. Her feet wore a pair of soft, but incredibly comfortable and easy to walk with scout boots. On her thin waist there was a utility belt, which carried the Loresinger’s dagger and a needler pistol. Strapped on her back was a small backpack and a compact Terran laser carbine.
The woman’s waist long, jet-black hair, was braided very much like what Velin saw Terran spacers did. A pair of gray eyes explored his tall, uniform wearing stature. For more than a few star-seconds he felt she was falling deep inside his own eyes, as if looking for something. Then a bright and beautiful to behold smile blossomed upon her face.
Only the free and the unmolested could produce such a smile.
“Reia, meet Velin, son of Mir. You will guide this young Lothorian with your knowledge, use the Link to aid his soldierly skill, thereby enabling the doom of many an invader.”
“Yes, teacher! I will do what need to be done, for Avern’a’s freedom.” – Answered the young woman; her gentle voice sounded much like a beautiful bird’s song.
“Fist, you must visit the ancient repository; pay respect to the Architects, the Workers, the Soldiers, and the Artists. Recover that one sidearm for Velin, Reia. Take it from the sealed chamber, after you sing the ancient gates open.” – Instructed the Mage, his voice booming with power, and after a short pause, he stated:
“It is time...”
Reia nodded and once more, her gaze sank inside Velin’s blue, almond shaped eyes. Such was the power of this moment, that the Mage dared not steal it from them. He waited, robes shrouded in flickering, golden lights, and for more than a star-minute. Then there was the unintentional gasps and the sighs...
With a kind, fatherly gesture the Cowled One beckoned them to leave, begin their quest.
He snorted under his mask for a short while, after they were gone. The Mage had noticed how these youths swam deep inside each other’s eyes. It was a thing he liked to see and hoped to witness many more times in the coming days. Never mind the bloody slaughter of debased wretches, which was about to occur and soon, indeed he cherished Life much, much more...
For Life Eternal triumphed invaluably.
* * *
You can find The Rifle’s Song and the second novella, Velin And The Bunker Of Death here.