Will over body

Guardians

Index:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | 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 4

The Lothorian platoon marched in a two man travel column, their feet stomping through the muddy snow with ease.

One full week had passed since they departed Castle Mizuyama, and so far, they made excellent progress. With food and water a plenty, the young soldiers had no trouble traversing the otherwise difficult during this time of the year terrain. Their destination, a small village by the name of Belazem or Generous Soil, was no more than a day and a half ahead. Yet they had to hurry; the two Terr’aans who led them, they had received a missive from another person, who recently passed through the village.

One of the small ones, a long-eared plants master tasked with aiding local farmers, had seen disturbing things. Ominous figures lurking in the fog; armored, zhatarn wielding leht and evil aliens, all of them led by one magic hurling priest. Thankfully, the hopping Terr’aan reported that this group was not moving in the direction of the village. It would appear that this vile band had another goal, yet that could quickly change, therefore the soldiers picked up the pace.

Although they taxed the villagers to near-death, their old lords did not maintain this road – at least not regularly. That menial job was left to the peons; who, in addition to their farming duties, were forced to shovel mud and clear rock slides all year long.

Winter in the lower mountains was not terribly cold and there was plenty of water. Since Lothorians were used to back breaking labor, those who worked here exploited every opportunity to sneak some of the precious liquid, back to their families. Some of the soldiers’ own neighbors were caught and executed for the egregious “sin” of smuggling water. People who lived on the other side of this mountain had a lot of problems, though thirst was not one of them.

The marching column of soldiers had no trouble finding extra food. The giant would easily spot wild epes from great distance; his hand steady, the rocks he threw killed these animals on the spot. They would then skin the beasts and cook their meat over roaring fires in the evening.

Fuel there also was and in abundance – leftover wooden poles, unused lumber, which the peons had lugged here during a previous construction. In the lands beyond this mountain, known to local Lothorians as Mai’anna or Clear Waters in Terr’aan tongue, many trees of all sizes grew. Since each summer a new river ran and carried fresh water to the base of the mountain, crop yields there were far better.

These soldiers, all of whom grew up in the sandy, near waterless villages along the edges of Hack desert, knew nothing about Belazem. When asked, the Terr’aan morale officer rightfully stated that there is no difference between their own homes and this village. Any Lothorian rifleman would fight anywhere on this tortured, blood-soaked land and to his death if need be, no matter where he was recruited from. Therefore, they kept marching, everyone’s thoughts ablaze with furious purpose – the soldiers would defend that place or die trying.

Their veteran sergeant was one of the first who picked a rifle, and led by the Star Saviors, fought beside them in life-saving battle. Many times during their training would this holy man retell accurate accounts of his and their deeds.

The morale officers he said, their very souls were blessed with holy fire! Even after death’s final touch they would keep fighting, for saving lives was their hallowed mission. Soldiers in training, as a matter of fact all Lothorians everywhere began calling these peerless aliens not morale officers, but War Saints.

By now Lothoria’s populace learned that the Terr’aans, those who taught them how to be free – they desired no reverence, required no blind obedience, and definitely did not wish to be deified. That maybe true, yet many a Lothorian went to their doom with their names on their bloodied lips.

When another alien would ask them why, they’d smile and state that it wasn’t the Terr’aans themselves whom they venerated, but their holy example instead. Lothorians saw how their teachers lived, witnessed how they fought and, indeed, how they died.

Kept uneducated on purpose by their degenerate overlords, nevertheless, the Lothorians were wise and knowledgeable in their own ways. The deeds they’ve witnessed, every word spoken, and the knowledge which they were taught – it was every bit as uplifting as the Terr’aan presence itself. Their teachers gave with both hands and required only one thing from Lothorians – do not kneel before another enslaver ever again.

Now, it would seem that this small village was to be soon assailed and by none other, but their old masters. The M word, as Terr’aans often called it, was something Lothorians learned to never address their alien benefactors with. Such hate did the aliens have in their hearts against those who enslaved others, that they’d go to any lengths in order to end these degenerate creatures. Not normal sentients, monsters the Terr’aans called those who enslaved, bartered with the lives of people.

That mass slavery was the real state of things in the galaxy at large, Lothorians soon discovered. To their terror, they realized that if not for the Terr’aans, they’d be forever a slave – a lump of flesh to be sold for profit. Their lifetime of hard, back breaking labor would never amount to anything, but to empower some inbred overlord. They’d be always exploited, murdered as if they were mindless animals, their children abused by “holy priests.” Which meant that if they did not do something, act not later but now, their saviors might suffer the same fate.

Many fathers sent their sons to train and become soldiers, but there was one man in particular, whose wisdom spread like wildfire among the volunteers. The words which this dying elder sent his son on a dangerous trek across the Hack desert with, these words were now upon everybody’s lips:

“If Earth falls, if the Terrans should lose, then they’d be exterminated – we will ALL be exterminated. That, however, is not important my son; you know that ultimately, all living things will come to an end. Remember this, though – If that should happen, then the light of hope is lost. Before you fall, before you draw last breath and your eyes close shut, I want you to see something – the enslaver’s bloody boot stepping on your and your children’s throats. Imagine the whole galaxy becoming the Lothoria of yesterday and staying like this... forever.”

Imagine these men did and vividly!

So much so, that even in their waking hours, young Lothorian soldiers could see said boot. Huge, soaked by the blood of uncounted millions; its shadow lingering above their heads, ready to fall, crush their necks and smother their breath. There was not a shred of hesitance or meek deliberation living inside the minds of these young volunteers. Those who traveled great distances in order to learn the Terr’aan Way – they would soak all life-saving knowledge, learn how to fell their enemy, and not only those of Lothorian origin.

These were simple people and simple decisions were oftentimes required in order to fix complicated troubles. It didn’t take long for them to realize that, by following the example of their saviors, lending a helping rifle could prevent much suffering, help others uplift themselves. They would train hard; they would persevere and learn the Art of Peace.

Just like their liberators did, Lothorians would traverse the void of space, go where sentients were still suffering under a slaver’s boot. Then, by way of rifle, sword or even bare hands, they’d remove said boot – dismember the slaver, crush the oppressor, feed the earth with their sorry carcasses!

Marching without thinking of pain or tire, minds empowered by this most hallowed purpose, the Lothorian soldiers sang. Folk chanteys at first; which their elders still taught them, despite the fact that they were forbidden to even utter them by their debased lords. Of plentiful nekhtu harvests they sang, about ancient warriors who rebelled against unjust rule, and the beauty of their land. The two Terr’aans who led them, they sang too and in but a few days, all soldiers learned these alien songs.

Some were from a place called Asgard, which the giant sang of. Tales of great warriors, who, armed with mighty weapons and sturdy shields, guarded the city walls.

Others, sang by the War Saint, these songs were loaded with grim determination. They retold tales of great pain and suffering, which the Terr’aans of Sirius faced and eventually, overcame. Easy to learn, the chanteys helped their minds focus and through them, Lothorians learned more about their helpers.

Even if the Terr’aans weren’t gods, they had suffered a plenty, and deserved every bit of Lothorian reverence!

On the last day of their march, what their leaders justly feared would happen, occurred. Their devices received a missive sent by the long-eared man and it was not good news. The enemy band moved faster and, after achieving their initial goal, their scout troop assailed Belazem.

This Terr’aan reported that the enemy’s main body was not so far behind either. The poorly armed villagers and he were putting up stiff resistance, but every Lothorian knew – defeat was only a matter of time. Trained soldiers and learned in the Terr’aan Way were these men, and a picture most grim did their mind’s eye paint.

Calm and collected, despite the grim news, their two alien leaders ordered:

“We will dash ahead of you with great haste, for one of us has the stride of a giant! Do everything in our power to slow down, confuse and kill as many enemies as possible, we shall! All soldiers are to drop their backpacks, then chase after us. Run, because this is your village under assault right now! Run, for it is your farms being raided! Run, because your sisters, your mothers, and your elders are being slaughtered!”

The War Saint then leapt up and, using the long arm of his Asgardian companion, quickly found himself comfortably sitting upon his broad shoulder. Tall and according to his word, a most capable runner, the giant dashed forth with incredible speed! His feet stomped the earth hard, splashes of mud and snow flew in the air with his every step.

While the sound of crushed rocks and his booming stride echoed in the distance, Lothorian soldiers were removing their travel gear. Backpacks and other items were hastily hidden by the roadside and then, after a thundering yell, the platoon ran, rifles in hand.

* * *

The temple leht in command of their Lord’s advanced troop made the right decision.

This pitiful village had little to no prepared defenses and its denizens, nevermind the heretic’s aid, should’ve been easy to subjugate. However, after the initial success, his two lehta strong force lost fifteen of its fifty warriors.

Dashing with amazing speed, one small critter of alien origin made short work of more than a dozen armored, blessed by Rot’s holy messenger, leht. The rebellious peons also resisted and quite stubbornly so; he’d slain at least twelve wimpy children, who attacked him armed with sharpened farming tools. They and a couple of elderly peons who assailed his personal retinue, foolishly charging out from their stinking hovels. Each of them defiantly screamed something in that filthy Terr’aan tongue as they perished, slain by his zhatarn.

However obnoxious and deranged these heretics were in their pointless impudence, after his crossbowmen felled the hopping alien, all organized resistance quickly crumbled. No matter the casualties, it was a victory and his remaining leht soon broke rank – they were owed first spoils for their gallantry, after all.

He himself was having an urge and, bloodied zhatarn in hand, the noble leht took one good look around. Unsatisfied he roamed these lands since his last visit of Temple’s now desecrated Sanctuary! Now, a mere minute after he scoured his surroundings, he laid his eyes upon the very thing which was once so easily attained.

A little girl crawled between the dead bodies, her filthy hands clutching a babe. All the dirt and blood couldn’t hide her long, beautifully braided hair, well-proportioned face and supple lips.

Those eyes!

She looked at him with so much terror, such hatred, yet her almond shaped, red eyes were probably her best feature. The leht hungrily licked his parched lips and walked over the scores of dead, calmly. He felt as if the proper order of things had been restored and he, again visiting the personal quarters of his priestly lords. The place where all urges were always satisfied and his blessed by Rot comrades spent many blissful days.

Wounded, the little girl was unable to run away and yet, he allowed her to try. She made one dozen paces, before he easily caught up and tripped her. Amazingly, instead of dropping her cargo, she rolled and fell on her back, the babe safe in her hands. The girl kept crawling away, little by little, and the leht sheathed his zhatarn, eyes savoring his treat. Her back hit a toppled epes cart; with a happy smile, he stood over her mid street and stated:

“If you surrender yourself to me, peon, then I shall... I will be gentle. My promise as a Temple leht, this babe of yours shall come to no harm, only if you do not resist.”

The look in her almond-shaped, red eyes changed from pure terror to something else.

Instead of pleading for mercy or better yet, simply agreeing for the sake of that useless lump of meat she held in her arms, the girl smiled. Then she laughed victoriously, her hand unwrapping the clutched bundle. Instead of a babe, something which he could use to torment her, break her will and force the girl into obedience, what he saw was a bundle of dry twigs!

“Come at me you slime!”

This crafty little bitch!

She tricked him into thinking that was a babe in her hands, while someone else probably escaped with that shite smelling... thing! No matter – peons were malnourished and weak. Whoever lugged the babe, they couldn’t have run so far away that his leht couldn’t find them. For a stupid peon to sacrifice themselves so some baby could live, was the most useless act the leht had ever witnessed.

Why?!

The dirty fools could make another one of their stinking things. They bred like desert rodents and no matter how many of them died, there was always more to till the nekhtu fields.

The leht’s calm, sadistic laughter echoed across the covered with butchered bodies street, as his shadow loomed over her tiny body.

“Then you chose the other way, fool!”

“Yes, I made my choice.” – The girl’s smile became wider, and she grabbed a small knife from her belt, pressing its sharp blade at her throat.

A strange, rhythmic thump could be heard in the distance and that sound, it was getting progressively louder. Whatever it was, the leht could not tear his eyes from her face – his warriors could take care of themselves.

So defiant, so rebellious she was! Oh, that new treat of his, he’d make sure it lasted more than all previous treats.

Exactly as quick as it shifted before, the emote pouring out of her beautiful red eyes, changed again. Startled and even laden with faint hope, her eyes focused on something behind him. Was she delusional or was that a poor attempt at tricking him? He could not deliberate further, because another sound joined the thump and this time, it was one which he remembered well.

The brutal, terrifying roar of Terr’aan weapon fire suddenly echoed, multiple booms followed by death throes and then someone shouted in Lothorian:

“Leht, your lives are forfeit! Abandon all hope of survival, for my Terran heart is void of mercy and I will not relent! Not until every single one of you dies screaming...”

Immediately after that terror inflicting declaration, more shots echoed. One boom came from up and close by, so the leht quickly turned around, hand unsheathed his zhatarn. Eyes catching a rapidly moving, athletic figure, he realized that the Terr’aan shooter had the high ground. This man ran across rooftops, leaping with amazing skill between each, sometimes even shooting mid jump.

The leht felt that something was very, very wrong, as someone ominously loomed above him. Distracted by the loud booms and bangs of this alien weaponry, he’d completely forgotten about the thump!

To his credit, he did try turning around and as swiftly as he possibly could. Yet all of his training in the Temple, his experience as a loyal leht, slaying rebellious peons and filthy heretics on the field of battle now amounted to nothing.

One, single star-second ebbed away... The giant of an opponent who stood before him could not be escaped, nor the thick wall of metal flying towards him – evaded.

Marked with a strange, alien letter, this warrior’s shield bashed the leht with such furious force, which no Lothorian made armor could withstand. Gory bits and forged metal flew in the air! A torrent of blue blood painted the wall of a nearby home, while the leht’s mangled beyond use zhatarn rolled in the dust, many paces away. Twas all that remained from this noble leht and soon, the dying throes of his brave, abundantly blessed by Rot underlings echoed across the village.

Moreover, the child could hear what sounded to her like the hooves of running epes, coming from the mountain. That and there was a yell; thunderous, to those leht who still drew breath, this new echo felt like a punch in the gut. Those who were yet to start running, immediately did so, and as fast as their legs could carry them.

Standing before her was an armored giant of a man; part of his broad shield covered with what was left of the leht, blue blood dripping on the road. Everything about that person made the girl feel at ease and safe! With tired arms she grabbed the epes cart and, on her wobbly legs, the girl stood up.

Eyes searching for the warrior’s face, she was somewhat startled when he knelt before her. The helmet became like air and through it, she saw a pair of kind, green eyes. Looking at her the giant gifted her with a calm, reassuring smile and after blowing one rebellious quiff away from his eye, spoke in good Lothorian:

“Fear not little one, for we came here with intent to protect.”

Tears running down her cheeks, the girl’s feet betrayed her, and she collapsed in his hand.

So small... so vulnerable her tiny body looked! The warrior gently held her in his palm, shield placed between her and any possible threat which could possibly come – there were still leht running around. The giant made his helm’s facial protection slide open and then, disgusted beyond measure, spat on the road.

“Vile they warned me these Temple ‘warriors,’ were... No, they are worse – monsters all of them! I will not halt my hand until all of them rot safely in the ground!”

All around him echoed the sound of boots stomping the earth, accompanied by more yells and the occasional railgun shot.

Lothorian soldiers ran and with great haste; they not only caught up, but were somehow still fit to fight and win a life-saving battle. Truly a triumph of Will over body, as his morale officer companion had stated many a time!

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