Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: Hedjin, a native of the world of Shukor, is caught up in a strange and mysterious quest when he encounters stranded foes - the hated invaders of his world who stole his ancestor's land long ago. Captured and forced to act as a guide to the little explored regions of a trackless wilderness, he encounters strange and perilous hazards. Will he find love and adventure or a horrid and terrible death as he battles prejudice, monsters and inhuman foes? Only by reading the story can you find the answer to these questions.
Edit history: Minor changes were made to this story on 4 July 2021.
It was late afternoon. Hedjin pulled on the reins of his bakru and slowly brought the huge beast to a stop. It had been a long perilous ride and both he and his strange mount needed rest. He slapped its neck in command, and the tall ungainly creature commenced the elaborate process of folding its four long legs to settle to the stony arid soil of the Wasteland of Kafan. The manoeuvre complete Hedjin eased himself stiffly from the saddle. He stretched mightily, reached into one of the wicker saddlebags and drew forth a dried fookooja.
“Here Zamra,” he said offering the fruit to his mount. “I hope this titbit will be recompense for the hard ride I’ve put you through. May the spirits be merciful and grant my vision soon so I may return home a man to my father Muri, chief of our people, and you to the cool stables of our citadel.”
The bakru gave him a derisive look with her purple serpentine eyes. She had little time for quests. Zamra had the irascible temperament of a camel, which she roughly resembled. Her body, however, was covered in large bronze hued scales rather than hair, and her head with its black bull-like horns resembled that of an iguana more than an earthly bovine or dromedary. Her strange appearance was completed by legs and feet that were ostrich-like in form.
Zamra snorted derisively, further expressing her contempt for spirits, visions and nonsensical initiation ceremonies that required one to wander far and wide across hostile terrain. No wonder initiates were afflicted by hallucinations, engendered by the furnace heat, utter loneliness and desolation of this inhospitable wilderness. Nonetheless, she wrapped her long prehensile tongue about the shrivelled orange-like fruit and swiftly drew it into her commodious tooth lined maw.
As Zamra chewed the viand, its sweet spicy flavour mollified her somewhat so that she didn’t object overly much as Hedjin hitched her to a thorny lamata bush. His mount secured against bolting (as bakru were wont to do at the most inconvenient of times) the young man ascended a rise to survey his surroundings. He climbed the slope with ease. His tall muscular body was as black as obsidian and glistened with the same lustrous sheen.
Zamra’s attitude towards his quest didn’t bother Hedjin. They’d bonded when the bakru had hatched two years ago from a mottled football size egg, and so he was familiar with her temperament. Besides, it was well known that bakru were the most blasphemous of creatures, being extremely discontent with the Creator-spirit for having given them their ungainly appearance.
Gaining the acclivity’s height Hedjin shaded his eyes against the intense crimson sunset as blazing Farz sank below the horizon. From a distance he could have passed for a human being. His body was proportioned much like that of an Earthman. His eyes, however, were like those of Zamra, and three small horns, all about an inch in length and ivory in colour, protruded from his forehead – one above each eyebrow and the third in the middle of his brow. His head was covered with neither hair nor fur, but rough scales as dark as jet and speckled with silver. The rest of his hairless skin was as smooth as satin, but nonetheless possessed a rubbery toughness far more resilient than human tissue.
Hedjin slowly turned in a circle, surveying the crimson emptiness that stretched out before him. The barren landscape was relieved here and there by the occasional mesa, low stony hillocks and the ubiquitous lamata bushes. The bushes were thorny aloe-like plants vivid emerald in colour, many reaching six feet in height, whose edible yellow tubers formed the staple diet of the Vrann, his people.
The young Vrann self-consciously touched his horns. They would be gilded during the Ceremony of Adulthood as a sign that the Voice of Winds had given him his vision and thus confirming his transition to adulthood. But when would the vision come, and what form would it take? It had been ten days of wandering, ten long days that had taken him far from the citadel of his people and its cool oasis. There were accounts of initiates going out into the trackless Wasteland of Kafan and never returning. Would he be one of them? Would he be rejected by the Voice of Winds as unworthy and his unclean spirit doomed to wander this desolate wilderness for all eternity?
A strange shape in the distance caught his eye and drew him from his morbid worries. The object was long, strangely dark and regular against the redness of a rugged hillock. Hedjin squinted, but even his keen gaze couldn’t clearly discern the nature of the enigmatic thing. He was sure it wasn’t an outcrop. But what it might be he couldn’t imagine. Curiosity piqued he descended the knoll and unhitched Zamra from the thorny lamata bush.
“Come on girl,” he said as he mounted. “I’ve seen something. Let’s go find out what it is.”
Zamra gave him a waspish look and reluctantly levered herself from the earth with rumbling protests as he goaded her into motion. Bakru are not the most gracious of creatures, and Zamra made her displeasure at this interruption to her rest known with a gait more lurching than was usual. Hedjin ignored her protest with equanimity.
An hour later Hedjin had reached his goal. Night was upon the world. The emerald moon had risen and in its pellucid radiance the thing was dimly visible. He reined in Zamra and looked with wonder at the Humin land-ship. His father had seen one in his youth near the Thurin range, but only from a distance, and his description of it paled when compared to the close up reality. This land-ship was at least two hundred feet in length. Its low rectangular body was supported by eight enormous wagon wheels. Three masts rose from its deck. There were crenulated turrets fore and aft and also along the vessel’s port and starboard side.
The whole craft was ornamented with baroque extravagance which Hedjin found overdone when compared to the simple clean lines of Vrann artistry. Hideous imaginary beasts snarled at him with unbridled ferocity. Gilded scrollwork curled like foaming sea waves across the crenulations, and panels of carved warriors stood ready to cast their barbed spears, all painted in vivid colours that in daylight would dazzle the eye with their vibrancy. Even the spokes of her huge wheels had been embellished with elaborate carvings.
But now the mighty land-ship lay broken, toppled on her side, her masts snapped and bright pennants torn. Her hull had been shattered where it had been driven against the rugged flank of the rocky knoll. Hedjin remembered the howling storm, the dreaded desert misoon, which had raged two days ago. He’d been on the fringes of the monster and that had been bad enough. Day had become night. The grit laden wind had roared like a giant in agony for hours on end as he and Zamra huddled in the lee of a mesa, and so vicious was the tempest that he’d thought it would blow away the very stone he hid behind.
It appeared the land-ship had been caught in the jaws of the brutal misoon. The craft’s sails had been furled, and she’d been anchored to the ground by ropes, but so vicious had been the storm that the thrust of the wild wind against her hull had torn loose her ground-anchors and she’d been driven against the rocks and upended by the ferocity of the gale.
Mounds of sand indicated shallow graves for the Humin buried their dead, unlike the Vrann, who allowed the bodies to decay in the Towers of Silence for a year, after which the bones were collected, ceremoniously cleansed of any remaining flesh and incorporated into the family’s pillar-like ancestral shrine for the purpose of veneration.
The presence of graves indicated that some of the Humin crew had survived the disaster. Whether they still lived was unknown and so caution was advisable, for the Humin were no friends of the Vrann. Bitterness came upon Hedjin. Five hundred years ago the Humin had come from the sky with weapons of fire and burning light. The invaders had driven the Vrann from their lush coastal cities and into this wilderness of desert. Many Vrann had died; a whole civilization had been destroyed. But the Vrann were tough and their ordeal had made them tougher. They had rebuilt their culture in the Wasteland of Kafan and the Humin, content with their victory, had left the Vrann to eke out their harsh existence undisturbed.
Hedjin could have passed on, but curiosity is a powerful thing. What were the Humin doing so far from the eastern coast? They were soft creatures ill suited to Shukor, this harsh world. Only their magic, or tek as they called it made them mighty, and the seers of his people suspected that it was slowly failing them. The young Vrann pondered. They would have had to come through the Xyro pass – the only breach in the Thurin range - the mighty chain of mountains that bordered the coast of the Urlon Sea and cut off much of the rain to these arid lands.
Idle curiosity wasn’t sufficient reason to undertake such a perilous journey. Its purpose must be significant and might portend ill for his people. He must investigate. Hedjin prodded Zamra behind a large lamata bush, commanded her to kneel and dismounted. After hitching his mount he checked that his quiver full of ubari was within easy reach. No desert plant had a solid yet flexible wood suitable for bows, and so apart from javelins and slings ubari, or throwing darts, were the only other long range weapons the Vrann possessed. The missiles consisted of an arrowhead behind which was a lead weight that fitted into a short wooden shaft with fins of stiffened leather at its end. The lethality of the darts, each a foot in length, was increased by the potent poison in a groove running down the middle of the point.
Assured that the missiles wouldn’t snag Hedjin drew his samshir – a weapon that consisted of a steel disc about four inches in diameter with dagger-like teeth of equal length. The head was perpendicularly mounted on a hardwood haft reinforced with brass rings, the handle being approximately forty inches in extent.
Sure of his weapons, Hedjin crept with stealthy alertness towards the wreck. Nothing moved. No lights showed. All was silence. He slid up to the hull as soundlessly as the shadows cast by pale green moonlight. The rugged hillock rose above him against the glitter of stars as did the upturned craft, which had been flung upon its stony slope.
A sudden scream shattered the stillness – a cry imbued with utter terror and complete despair. Hedjin acted instinctively to that desperate wordless plea. He dashed madly around the land-ship’s stern and in an instant took in the scene of deadly menace - the shadowy figure; it’s back pressed against the hull, terror etched in the rigid lines of its frozen posture, and the three powerful beasts that stalked towards their frightened prey.
The things, four feet in height, were somewhat dog-like in general body shape. Their forelegs, however, were longer than the hind, which gave their backs a sloping appearance. Their heads and vicious beaks were more raptor-like than canine, and their skin consisted of black oblong scutum – bony scales overlaid with horn - arranged in transverse rows. They were kiswar, the dread nocturnal carnivores of the desert that preyed on herds of wild bakru.
Swiftly Hedjin drew an ubari as the kiswar sensed his presence. The beasts experienced a moment of confusion, not knowing which prey to first assail. It was a brief delay but sufficient for Hedjin to cast the dart with all his strength and skill. The missile streaked from his hand. It struck the rearmost kiswar in its scaled flank. The creature hissed, spun about madly snapping at the barbed projectile, and then collapsed convulsing as the deadly poison quickly took effect.
Its companions charged Hedjin, their screeching cries as grating as fingernails upon a chalkboard. Another fell as a second ubari pierced its glinting eye, but the third beast was on the Vrann in a rush too swift for a final throw. Hedjin thrust his samshir at the monster. It nimbly dodged aside and swiftly pounced again. The Vrann swung his weapon and struck the thing a glancing blow upon its wicked beak.
The kiswar leapt away. It began to circle him looking for an opening. Hedjin turned keeping it before him, his weapon tensely poised. The robed woman pressed against the land-ship’s hull breathlessly watched the frightful spectacle. Sophia saw the Keswar lunge, the dim figure dodge away. The woman gasped as her unknown rescuer tripped upon a rock and tumbled to the ground.
Hedjin struck the stony earth. Pain lanced him sickeningly. His samshir spun from his hand. The kiswar pounced. Its wicked claws were unsheathed to disembowel him, its cruelly hooked beak agape to rip his throat. There was a tremendous flash of dazzling white light, the stench of burnt flesh. The beast fell upon him. Its heavy body drove the breath from his lungs. Agony swamped him. Oblivion descended and the world ceased to exist.
As the kiswar leapt Sophia broke fear’s hold upon her. Her arm snapped up and she squeezed the trigger of her weapon. An intense ray exploded from its muzzle. The beam struck the leaping beast, pierced its heart. But the momentum of its charge carried it forward and it crashed heavily upon the prostrate man.
The woman raced to his side. She hauled the carcass off and gasped when she saw he was a Vrann. In the dim light she’d thought him one of her own people, perhaps a survivor of her sister ship the Intrepid which had become separated from her own vessel - the Valiant - during the hellish storm. Heart pounding, she looked wildly about expecting other savages to spring at her from behind every bush and rock.
A babble of worried voices broke through Sophia’s consternation as she struggled for self control. As a young girl she’d been attacked by a similar beast whilst hiking with her father, Leos, in the hills overlooking Nova Londinium the Humin settlement. It had been a terrifying experience and she still bore the scars of the encounter, both physical and psychological. The sight of the kiswar had brought back all those awful memories as if it had been but yesterday, and for a moment she’d been that terrified helpless ten year old again. Ashamed of her momentary weakness Sophia banished the last of her terror. It wouldn’t do for the crew to see their commander in this state.
Turning, she saw men clambering through the shattered windows of the craft’s stern. The battle with the beasts had been briefer than it seemed, and the survivors of the crew were rushing to her aid in response to her frightened cry.
Captain Argan sprinted to her side. His eyes narrowed as they fell upon the unconscious Vrann and his hand darted to the short sword at his hip. The woman restrained him with a firm commanding grip. Her initial fright having passed, and now emotionally composed, she cast her thoughtful gaze upon Hedjin who still lay insensate at her feet.
“Did this brute harm you?”
“Be at ease, captain. In truth he saved me,” she replied. “Had he come a moment later I’d probably be dead.”
“A kinder death beneath the claws of these beasts,” hotly stated Argan. “These savages are worse than animals. Why, if he’d gotten hold of you ...”
“Enough,” she sharply said as the rest of the crew gathered round. “Put aside your feelings and think carefully, captain. Our craft is wrecked beyond the possibility of repair. We’ve become separated from Intrepid, our sister land-ship, which may also have met with disaster. We are stranded in the middle of a barren wilderness with no certainty of rescue. Most of the water barrels were ruptured in the crash. In a few days we shall all be dead of thirst. The savage is a native of this country. We are not. His knowledge may mean the difference between life and death for us and therefore the success or failure of our vital mission.”
“But...”
“My decision is final,” Sophia firmly replied. “You may be captain, but I am commander of this expedition,” she continued, pointedly touching her medallion of authority, “empowered by my father the summi ducis of the senate. Bind the prisoner, tend to his wounds, and see no harm comes to him for if it does I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand?”
Argan bowed to hide his reddening countenance. “I understand,” he woodenly replied. “It shall be as my ladyship commands.”
Sophia watched as the captain departed with several crewmen who carried the unconscious prisoner. The rest of the land-sailors, sensing her desire for solitude, took up guard positions some distance away. Sophia took a deep calming breath and let her anger drain away. She shouldn’t have rebuked Argan in front of his men, but the fellow pushed the boundaries of insubordination. She suspected he had a problem taking orders from a woman. Sophia sighed and rubbed her brow. She looked up at the sky. Somewhere among the stars was distant Earth – the ruined home her ancestors had fled. She wished that she too could be far away from all her troubles, but that was a luxury denied her. Slowly, Sophia walked back to the wreck, wondering if the Vrann would add to or lessen her problems.
**********
Morning light slanted through a broken porthole. Again Hedjin tested his bonds, and bit back an angry curse of self reproach. Calling himself a fool and worse for having gotten into this situation wouldn’t get him out of it. The young Vrann leaned back against a slanting bulkhead which had now become the floor of the overturned land-ship. He closed his eyes as his mind groped for some means of escape.
The sound of footsteps made him raise his head. He beheld a person stepping into the room. It was a Humin woman. The cowl of her long sleeved tunic was thrown back. Her face was unveiled and her hands free of gloves. He recognised her as the figure of the night before by the elaborate gold brocade of her white unisex attire, clothing that was completed by legging-style trousers tucked into high boots. Her skin was as pale as his horns. Her eyes were luminous green and her flowing hair as red as a burning sunset. Her alien beauty possessed a delicate grace, but the look upon her face was one of steely resolve that reflected her inner spirit, and banished any assumptions of weakness her soft appearance might have otherwise suggested.
Sophia stared at her captive, trying to judge the inner man. His face was impassive. His serpentine eyes regarded her with neither hatred nor fear. They were calm pools in his almost human countenance. There was something of the feline in his appearance; perhaps the shape of his ears and nose. His physique was slender but not bony, and the well defined muscles of his entire body stood out clearly, as if they had been sculpted by a master artisan. He was dressed in a simple leather kilt. His weapons, of course, had been removed.
Annoyed that she was unable to penetrate the armour of his reserve, Sophia came directly and rather bluntly to the point.
“Our land-ship is wrecked. We are a long way from home and facing death. We need your knowledge of the desert to survive. Help us and you shall live. Refuse and I will ensure your end is far more horrible than ours will ever be. This is my promise. Now, what is your answer and be quick with your reply.”
Hedjin was surprised that she spoke Vrann. Her accent was strange and she mangled much of the pronunciation, but nonetheless he could understand her. He thought rapidly. The Humin were his enemies. If he refused to help them they would certainly die, and he didn’t for a moment doubt her threat of torture. But he also sensed something of the desperation in his captor. Even if this expedition failed he was sure others would come in search of ... of what? He didn’t know, but was sure that whatever it was it was of vital importance to them.
The Humin woman was clearly the leader. If he cooperated she would let him live, at least for a time, and during that time he might be able to discover what it was they were searching for. If he could then escape and convey this information to his people it might be of great advantage to them. Inwardly Hedjin smiled. Subtlety, not brute strength must be his cunning strategy. He spoke.
“I have no desire to die,” he calmly replied. “I will help you. But I must be reassured you will honour your promise of allowing me to live, and not kill me when you think I’m expendable.”
“I gave you my word as a noblewoman. Is this not good enough?” she stiffly replied.
Hedjin knew he was pushing his luck, but felt he would arouse suspicion if he agreed too readily.
“Swear it by your most scared oath and I will be satisfied.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed dangerously and her nostrils flared at what she felt was impertinence. She had the pride of an aristocrat and a temper that could at times be easily provoked. The vital importance of the mission, however, made her master her anger. In any other situation she would probably have had him flogged.
“I swear by the true God Jesu that if you do all things I command, that if you answer all questions truthfully and abstain from treachery in all its forms that I in turn will ensure no harm in any form shall befall you. Are you satisfied with my oath?” she concluded in a waspish tone.
“It will suffice,” he calmly replied. “And I in turn swear by the spirits of my ancestors to abide by the conditions you require.”
Again Hedjin inwardly smiled, for he had omitted key words from his formal oath, and so could break it without bringing a fearful curse upon his soul.
**********
Three days had passed. It was noon and eight of the ten surviving Humin had gathered around the “pot” as they called it to await their lunchtime meal. Hedjin observed the workings of the device thoughtfully. The pot was a metal cube whose sides were two feet in length. It was supported by four splayed legs, and had a series of dials and switches on one face. Foodstuffs, in this case the yellow tubers of the lamata bush, were being inserted into a hopper at the top of the pot. The pot whirred; lights blinked and after a time mush flowed from a tube in the base of the machine to be caught by a metal bowel beneath it.
Hedjin chewed on a raw lamata rhizome as he observed the proceedings, dividing his attention between what was going on by the pot and rubbing down Zamra with sand to help keep her scales free of parasites. He recalled Sophia’s reaction when he had first dug up one of the tubers and offered her a piece to eat. The Humin woman had recoiled as if he’d been giving her poison. He couldn’t understand her reaction, especially when he’d eaten some in front of her as reassurance it was fit for consumption. Indeed, she’d been evasive when he’d questioned her as to what was wrong.
Then the other night he’d found a drop of the mush the machine produced, obviously spilt by a careless diner, and had tasted it out of curiosity. It had been only a very small amount, but it had made him quite nauseous and he’d thanked his ancestors he hadn’t sampled more. These thoughts were going through his puzzled mind: Sophia’s adverse reaction to the lamata tubers, the water storage rhizomes of the xuro shrubs and small game he’d procured. Nothing was eaten without first going into the pot, which turned perfectly palatable food into unappetizing looking mush, and what it did produce had made him quite ill.
Slowly, the strange truth dawned upon Hedjin. What was edible to him was in fact poisonous to the Humin. Their magic or tek as they called it was needed to transform the foods of Shukor, his world, into substances they could eat, and when it was thus altered it became inedible to a Vrann. It made sense. The Humin were not of Shukor, they were not the children of his earth. Conditions here were inimical to them – from the intense sunlight that made them cover every part of their bodies, including their eyes, when they stepped outside to the very plants and animals.
Hedjin’s thoughts were interrupted by raised voices. Turning, he saw Argan and Sophia were having another heated conversation. Over the past few days the young Vrann had observed a growing rift between the two, and Hedjin suspected that he was the cause of it. Sophia, being the only Humin who could speak his language was much in his company, and he often caught the captain shadowing them as he showed the woman, accompanied by two heavily armed guards, the various plants and animals of the desert, explaining which were edible, which were poisonous and the medicinal properties of others.
It seemed rather absurd, but Hedjin was sure Argan was jealous. At night, when the captain’s face was unveiled he’d seen the man staring darkly at him as he and Sophia sat by lamplight in the cramped and slanting wreck, discussing the beliefs of his people, which to his surprise she took an interest in, albeit a somewhat condescending one. It probably didn’t help that Argan couldn’t understand what they were saying. Perhaps the man thought he was trying to seduce Sophia by reciting love poetry. Hedjin almost laughed his hissing alien laugh at that idea.
He sobered though at the thought of what the situation might portend. Tempers were frayed from the heat, the uncertainty of rescue and all the small irritants that are magnified by living in less than ideal conditions. Discipline was slipping and he could feel the tension building like the coming of a misoom. It wouldn’t take much to set things off. Men had killed out of jealously, and despite their physical differences Humin and Vrann were mentally much alike.
The explosion came sooner than Hedjin anticipated. The heated argument reached a crescendo. He saw Sophia slap Argan. The captain staggered back. His face turned feral beneath his veil. Sophia drew her ray-pistol as he lunged at her. Argan grabbed her wrist. She cried out as he wrenched the weapon from her grasp and hurled it aside. Spitting vile oaths he tore frenziedly at her clothes. In an instant the camp was in violent uproar. Men dashed towards the struggling pair. Divided loyalties were in evidence – some for their captain, others for Sophia. Swords were jerked from scabbards. A man screamed, collapsed, his skull split by a swinging blade.
Hedjin saw his chance. The two land-sailors constantly by his side were distracted by confliction – should they guard the prisoner or join the fray? In an instant he took advantage of the situation. The Vrann lunged at his nearest foe, casting sand into the man’s face. The guard cried in pain, staggered. Hedjin slammed a foot into his opponent’s knee. Bone shattered. The enemy fell screaming.
The second guard whipped free his blade, lunged in a thrusting attack. Hedjin sidestepped, caught the fellow’s limb and rotated it into an arm-lock. His attacker cried in agony. Hedjin savagely threw his foe to the ground, broke his neck with a brutal stomp. Snatching up the dead man’s sword he slit the throat of the other. Turning, he saw the camp was still in chaos. Men battled brutally. Sophia had flung Argan to the ground. A long dagger was in her hand. She slashed wildly, driving off another attacker.
Hedjin grabbed Zamra’s saddle pad, flung it on her, this swiftly followed by the saddle. Normally, it takes about five minutes to saddle a bakru, but the Vrann accomplished the task in record time. But even so it wasn’t fast enough to flee. Those loyal to Argan had got the upper hand. He glimpsed Sophia fall beneath two assailants. Another two were rushing at him, swords drawn and screaming bloody oaths.
With a leap Hedjin grabbed the saddle frame and hauled himself aloft his lanky mount. He turned Zamra, kicked her flanks and sent her charging at the rushing foe. All seven feet and two thousand five hundred pounds of bakru bore down upon the Vrann’s assailants. Their eyes went wide. They leapt for their lives. Zamra swerved. A man screamed as she tossed him with her horns. Hedjin thundered past the other, rushed his remaining enemies, scattering them like windblown leaves.
Quickly, he turned Zamra. The pot was a short distance away. An idea flashed into his mind. He sent his mount dashing at it. Leaning perilously from the saddle he caught it by its handle and hooked it to his saddle’s lanyard. Hedjin glimpsed Argan racing for Sophia’s ray-pistol, and well remembered the weapon’s power. Again he turned Zamra, The pot bounced madly as he sent her charging at the racing man.
Argan saw the massive beast and its rider flying at him. With a wild yell of fright he dodged aside, but wasn’t quite fast enough. One of Zamra’s horns caught his clothing. The captain was jerked off his feet. Fabric ripped. He flew through the air, arms and legs flailing madly. Earth and sky spun like a crazed pinwheel. The ground rose up and smashed against him, cutting off his screams of terror.
Hedjin spotted Sophia as he pounded past his sprawling, bleeding foe. With her attackers scattered by his charge the woman had managed to stagger to her feet. An opportunity presented itself. He angled towards her; slowed Zamra and leaning from the saddle caught the dazed woman beneath her armpits and hauled her upon his mount so she lay draped across the saddle.
A beam of sizzling light flashed passed him in a narrow miss. Someone had got their wits together and grabbed the ray-pistol. Hedjin cursed. He kicked Zamra’s flanks. As commanded the bakru bolted in an erratic zigzag pattern. Another deadly ray lanced the space where he’d just been. Even from a distance he felt its burning heat. Sophia uttered a string of profanities. She began to struggle madly, nearly unseating him. Again he swore, urged his flying mount to greater speed.
Zamra began to round a knoll. A final beam struck the hillock. Stone exploded, peppering them with stinging shards, then interposing rock cut off the enemy’s line of fire. They were clear and the enraged foe could do nothing but choke upon their dust.
Hedjin brought Zamra to a stop in the shade of a spreading xuro tree, whose multiple warty trunks ramified into a dome shaped canopy of bluish blade-like leaves. Several hours of hard riding had taken them a considerable distance from the Humin camp, and the Vrann felt he could now grant his mount some well earned rest.
Sophia lay limply across the saddle. Her profanity and struggles had run their course, and in the process she had apparently exhausted her strength. It had been at least half an hour since she’d uttered a curse, insulted his ancestry, or tried strike him with her fists. Hedjin would kill to defend himself and his people. But essentially he wasn’t a cruel or callous person, and as he gazed upon her delicate form he found himself feeling sorry for her, stranded as she was in a hostile wilderness far from family, the familiarity of home and all its comforts.
He bid Zamra kneel, dismounted and eased Sophia gently from the saddle. That was a serious mistake. The woman exploded from seeming helplessness into a whirlwind of flying fists and feet. Hedjin was knocked backwards by a kick to his gut. Breath whooshed from him. He crashed against Zamra’s flank. The hissing bakru lurched up, bolted and knocked him heavily to the ground in the process.
Sophia tried to stomp on his head. Fighting through pain he caught her foot, twisted. She cried, fell. Hedjin pounced on her. They grappled ferociously, the Vrann amazed her slight frame possessed such strength. She tried to thrust her fingers into his eyes. He caught her hand, rotated it into a subduing wristlock. Despite her agony Sophia continued to struggle as she cursed him. Hedjin was forced to increase the pressure of his hold.
She gasped in agony, her curses becoming sobs. Through the thin material of her veil he could see her eyes glaring at him with all the ferocity of a cornered kiswar. He might have subdued her, but her spirit wasn’t broken and he wasn’t the type to try.
“Peace,” he calmly said. “I will let you go. I will not attack you if you do not attack me,” he concluded as he released his hold upon her and quickly backed away.
“You kidnapped me,” Sophia accused, glaring at him as she massaged her wrist. “This is hardly the action of someone who desires peace.”
“I rescued you,” he countered. “Argan and his men were winning. But now we have another urgent problem. Zamra has bolted and with her is the pot you depend on for your food. I pray to my ancestors she hasn’t gone far. Come, we must follow her, and quickly.”
Hedjin turned and began to track his skittish mount without waiting for Sophia to reply. He had said all he needed to say, and if his words didn’t convince her then any further conversation would simply be a waste of precious time.
Sophia watched him go with mixed feelings. Her attitude to the Vrann was typical of most Humins. She regarded him as a savage – unwashed, uncivilised and brutal. She’d expected to be raped at the very least. Her terror of this abuse had interfered with rational thought. The fact he hadn’t tried to harm her in that way had eased her fear, and in a calmer frame of mind she was able to concede to his point of view. But even so she didn’t entirely trust him. Without loyal swords at her side she felt vulnerable, and so it was with some reluctance that she stood and followed the Vrann.
Hedjin turned as she caught up with him. The Vrann felt relieved. The Humin woman was capable of common sense. He didn’t want to drag a reluctant captive with him, but to leave her in the wilderness would be her death. They continued on in silence, side by side.
A half hour had passed when Hedjin spotted Zamra. The bakru stood quietly chewing on the prickly leaves of a lamata bush. He halted, held up his hand for Sophia to also stop and addressed his reluctant companion.
“Stay here,” he said. “I will approach Zamra alone. She is a jumpy creature and is probably still disturbed from the fight. Your presence; your unfamiliar smell may cause her to bolt again.
Sophia stiffened. “Are you saying I stink?” she angrily responded.
Hedjin looked at her, his head tilted slightly in perplexity. “We all smell,” he replied. “I do not find Humin body odour unpleasant, but Zamra may feel differently.”
“Thanks, I think,” muttered Sophia as he turned and walked slowly towards his mount without another word.
**********
It was night. Zamra had been retrieved without too much difficulty and was now securely hitched to a pillar-like rock which Hedjin, taking first watch, also leaned against. The Vrann gazed thoughtfully at Sophia who lay curled in slumber upon a sleeping mat some distance away. It had been a dramatic and tiring day, and despite her disquiet over being alone with a savage in this hostile wilderness the woman had inevitably succumbed to her tiredness.
Hedjin was worried. He’d been forced to concoct plans on the run with insufficient time to clearly think things through. He’d rescued Sophia with the intent of finding out what the Humin were doing here and what it might mean for the Vrann. But what if she wouldn’t tell him out of gratitude for his rescue of her?
He wasn’t a sadist and balked at the thought of torture. But how would the rest of his people feel? After all, the Humin were their enemies. Hatreds were long and deep over what the invaders had done to the Vrann. Perhaps he could find a way to bring reconciliation between their people. A forlorn dream, perhaps, but one worth striving for.
Hedjin reflected upon his feelings. He never thought he’d be defending a Humin, but his time with her had made him see that she wasn’t the Vrann equivalent of the devil. She could be cruel and violent he was sure, but no more so than his own people. Contact with her had stimulated his mind, had caused him to contemplate things he would never otherwise have contemplated. Vrann and Humin shared the same world. Populations would expand. Neither side could avoid the other forever. They were going to have to learn to live together.
Hedjin closed his eyes. He was too disturbed by worries to find a solution to what seemed an intractable problem. He might be the only one of his people who felt this way. He began the ritual of the Empty Mind to calm his troubled thoughts. Zamra, whose senses were far sharper than his, would alert him if any danger approached.
His breathing and heart rate slowed. The world faded from his consciousness. He entered into a state of timeless non-being where his sense of self dissolved into the Creation like salt crystals in warm water. He was everywhere and nowhere at once.
Utter stillness was upon him. Then, through the all pervasive calm came the Voice of Winds, subtle, indescribable and unexpected. Non-being became being. Shapes, sensations and sounds presented themselves to his consciousness in a surreal kaleidoscope of impressions. Colours sang with voices of light, sounds spoke in vibrant hues. All was strange, unearthly and yet there was clarity of purpose despite the weirdness of it all.
The images faded. Hedjin emerged slowly from his trance. There could be no doubting the power of the experience, the trueness of the vision. The Voice of Winds had spoken to him. His manhood was now vouchsafed. He looked at Sophia. The woman was inextricably linked with his future. In what way the Voice of Winds hadn’t made clear, but now he knew with certainty she must accompany him.
**********
Five days had passed. The return journey to the Vrann homeland had been considerably shorter, for Hedjin had taken a direct route rather than the meandering path of his vision-quest. Sophia sat behind him, now accustomed to the swaying gait of his touchy mount. Her arms were around him as she peered over his shoulder and gazed apprehensively at the hazy geological formations that grew ever nearer with the passing hours.
The formations, largely bereft of vegetation, thrust up from the flat desert plain, a purplish-blue silhouette rising commandingly above the horizon. As they drew nearer and nearer Sophia saw with the closing distance raw earth colours emerge. Sienna hues, burnt umber and rusty orange began to flower in the deep blue shadows of the sheer sided gorges and narrow slot canyons. These carved the plateau into a maze of steep natural towers which, during a wetter geological epoch, had been weathered into curious pillars and crags that resembled abstracted battlements, minarets and spires.
Sophia’s unease communicated itself to Hedjin through the growing tension of her body. He had done his best to reassure the woman no harm would befall her, but not with complete success. He could understand that. For him it was a homecoming. For her it was a step into the unknown.
For her part Sophia, although worried, was not as fearful as what she would have been without her tek. The miniature device lay hidden within the hollow bezel of her ring. The solar powered mechanism, which she had activated after the wrecking of her craft, transmitted a signal that could be traced by sensors. She knew that if the Valiant’s sister ship the Intrepid had survived the misoom, it would come to her rescue, or avenge her if she was dead.
This thought gave her hope, a feeling of some control over her fate, that she could let her companions know where she was. Being a noblewoman she was accustomed to being in command of situations. But in this wilderness her bloodline counted for little, and probably less among these savages. It was true that Hedjin had been kind to her, but he might be the exception to his people. Her fingers gripped the ring upon her gloved hand, feeling the reassuring solidity of its outlines.
That afternoon they entered the first canyon. The sheer cliffs, at least seven hundred feet in height, towered over them, rays of sunlight imbuing the rocky walls with a golden-orange glow. They traversed a maze of canyons for over an hour before debouching into a narrow gorge where lush vegetation grew beside many large pools that nestled between the sheltering cliffs. The luxuriant nature of the growth, a startling contrast to the aridity of the desert, amazed Sophia with its tropical fertility, and it was clear to her that the pools must be fed by water from an artesian basin of considerable size.
The vegetation ranged from shrubs with plump carunculated mottled leaves of lime green and yellow to tall palm-like trees. The trees had warty black trunks, and their crowns were formed of fleshy tubular leaflets of lavender and emerald borne in pinnate arrangement on their pseudo-fronds.
The soil was also more fertile and in its humus. Unlike the pathless stony wasteland, a broad trail could be seen, one compacted over generations by the tread of countless Vrann and their bakru. Hedjin guided his mount upon the way and soon they came to a high crenulated dry stone wall that stretched defensively across the narrow canyon. The fortification was constructed from huge sandstone blocks surrounded by smaller wedge-shaped stones, all cleverly fitted to give great strength despite the lack of mortar. Tall square towers, similarly constructed, stood like silent sentinels on either side of a narrow gate, and as Hedjin drew up before the edifice a harsh challenge rang out from its imposing height.
“Identify yourself, or be slain,” came the strident martial cry.
“I am Hedjin, son of Muri, our Chief. I have returned from my vision-quest a man, and with a ... a guest.”
Commands were issued. Several minutes passed. The heavy bronze-bound timber gate was hauled up in the manner of a portcullis. Sophia tensed as six wary spear armed guards aggressively stepped forth to confront them.
“By my ancestors,” cried the sergeant of the gate. “It is as I thought – a Humin!”
The guards tensed further as did Sophia. The warriors’ faces were hard with anger and suspicion. Violence threatened to explode. Hedjin raised his hand to commandingly forestall it.
“There is no threat,” he loudly said. “This Humin is under my protection as a guest. Detail two of your men to escort us to my father; send a third ahead to announce our arrival. I have urgent matters to discuss with the Chief, now hurry.”
The sergeant didn’t like it - the thought of a hated enemy in their midst. But he was a military man, and military men obey orders. He did as he was commanded, and hoped the young Vrann knew what he was doing.
As they passed beneath the wall’s arch Hedjin whispered to Sophia: “Relax. All will be well.”
He hoped he sounded more confident that he felt. Now that he was home having to deal with his father had changed from an abstract concept to reality. Hedjin squared his shoulders. He was no longer a child, but a man and he would meet his sire on an equal footing in that regard. The thought gave him comfort as he guided Zamra through the tunnel-like passage of the barbican, slowing his mount’s pace to match the steps of the escort that strode before him while the third sprinted ahead to announce their coming.
As they emerged from the gateway Sophia looked about, partially to distract herself from her anxiety and partly out of genuine interest to know more about these people. What she knew, including the language, had been derived from books written shortly after the conquest of the Vrann by her ancestors. Naturally, in an attempt to justify their aggression, the invaders had portrayed the vanquished as mere savages. But what she saw about her gave her pause to reconsider this appraisal.
The habitation had been built against the canyon’s eastern side, and consisted of a rectangular complex of multi-story buildings spread over approximately three and a half acres. The rooms of the buildings faced inward towards a terraced system of patios and plazas that were accessed by broad stone stairs. The dry stone walls of the buildings were plastered, and upon them complex geometrical designs had been painted in pastel hues of blue, red and yellow.
At the foot of the buildings and their terraces was the central plaza that served as a market place with craftsmen’s workshops about its circumference. The square was thickly thronged with people going about their daily tasks, and from what she saw Sophia estimated the population numbered about two thousand Vrann.
Her presence drew stares from the throng, the people falling silent as she passed by. Some looked upon her with curiosity, others with naked hostility. But the presence of Hedjin and his escort held violence in abeyance, and those with hatred in their hearts must perforce be content to cast an angry glance at her rather than a stone.
The crowd continued to part before the hard eyes of the guards, whose sweeping determined gaze brooked no interference, and in a short time they left the bustling throng behind and halted before one of the broad staircases that climbed the high terraces of the Vrann citadel. Here, they dismounted. At Hedjin’s command one of their guards took charge of Zamra and led her to the stables. This done they commenced their ascent, the other warrior carrying the heavy pot with ease.
Sophia was slightly breathless by the time they stepped onto the uppermost terrace, which was over a hundred feet above the level of the plaza. She paused for a moment, awed at the sight of the impressive facade rising before her. The stonework, like that of the other edifices, had been plastered, but here it had been flamboyantly gilded rather than painted. The result was that the entire length of the colonnaded portico, which was of imposing size, shone vibrantly gold in the bright sunshine, dazzling the eye with its aureate splendour.
A man, followed by several guards, emerged from the colonnade and strode aggressively towards them, eyes glittering harshly in his stern hawk-like visage, his dark presence breaking Sophia’s rapturous mood. Hedjin tensed worriedly at the sight of his father. From his expression he knew the Chief was in a high temper, and so he stepped protectively in front of Sophia as Muri halted before them.
“You naive child,” said Muri with a mixture of anger and pity as he gazed upon his son. “You’ve led them straight to us.”
“What ... what do you mean,” stammered Hedjin, his carefully thought out speech torn asunder by the barely bridled fury in his father’s voice.
“Our sentinels on the high cliffs have just sent word to me by swift runner. A Humin land-ship has arrived at the entry to the canyon. Warriors have disembarked and are now marching towards our citadel. They have already slaughtered one patrol with burning spears of light. As in the past, we cannot prevail against their tek.”
Sophia recoiled as Muri firmly thrust his son aside and confronted her, his face now wild with unrestrained hatred.
“My son would never betray us willingly,” he cried, his breath ragged with fury as he sought a target for his boiling rage. “There can be but one explanation. You have beguiled the boy with your evil magic.” Muri spat a vicious oath and tore his samshir from the hook upon his belt.
“Die witch,” he shrilly screamed as he leapt at her, his glittering weapon swinging in a vicious arc.
As Muri leapt Hedjin swiftly sprang to intervene. He caught the samshir by its haft, tore it from his father’s grasp. The weapon clattered to the stones. The two men grappled furiously while rushing guards grabbed Sophia as she sought to flee. Father and son strained mightily as the anxious warriors looked on, unwilling to lay profaning hands upon either man as both were sacrosanct.
“Yield my son. You are bewitched,” cried Muri as he made his takedown move.
But Hedjin neither loosed his grip nor lost his concentration. As Muri grasped for his leg to throw him to the earth Hedjin quickly scooted both legs backwards to sprawl his wrestling stance. Now his body weight was upon his father’s upper back. Swiftly, he pushed Muri’s head down to the ground and swiftly pinned him to the floor with what in Earth terms was a Nelson hold.
Muri writhed mightily and it took all of Hedjin’s strength and skill to keep the man subdued. He spoke quickly, urgently and with gasping breath from the wild struggle.
“I am no longer a naive child, father. The Voice of Winds has spoken to me, and now I must speak to you. This woman is their leader and is of no value to us dead. She will be our shield. Her kinsmen dare not harm us while she lives. Let us parley with them. Negotiations, not violence will save the day. It is you who must yield to my words.”
Muri quietened, and at first Hedjin feared it was a ruse. But his father’s anger had been burned away by the exertions of the fight, and now the Chief was in a more reflective mood.
“I yield,” he said somewhat grudgingly after a moment’s hesitation. “Release me. The enemy will soon be at our walls. We have no more time to waste.”
Hedjin let go and helped his father rise. Muri regarded him with a wry grin. “You’ve proven yourself a better man than I. In this matter you had best take the lead.”
Relieved, Hedjin turned to Sophia who was still held firmly by the guards. He felt like uttering bitter recriminations. He sensed she was in some way responsible for summoning her kinsmen. He had treated her honourably and felt betrayed. Still, would he not have done the same when a captive? He pushed down his anger. Logic, not raw emotion must prevail. It was an incredible risk he was taking, trusting the woman further, but he knew his people couldn’t prevail against the might of the Humin’s weapons.
“There has been enough killing, too much in fact. How do we bring this to a peaceful end? Bear in mind I have no desire to unconditionally capitulate and see my people enslaved. I seek honourable terms. We would rather die than be robbed of our dignity and endure the humiliation of servitude. You Humin have taken far too much from us as it is.”
Sophia’s veil hid her expression. Her features were a dim shadow behind the protective gauze. With the coming rescue she had won, but could find no pleasure in victory. Hedjin’s words had touched her, and for a moment she saw things from his perspective.
The woman shifted her gaze to Muri. He stood passively, apparently in agreement with his son. Then her eyes widened as she saw the object hanging about his neck. Previously, she had only glimpsed it during the fight, but now it lay clearly before her eyes. Her heart quickened. It was a gearwheel slightly smaller than the palm of her hand. The alloy had the bluish tinge of resiliam, and therefore was clearly of Earth manufacture. It might be a vital clue to the location of what the expedition was seeking. An idea began to quickly form within Sophia’s mind.
“Tie a length of white cloth to a long stick,” she urged. “We will go together to meet my people, and with this sign they will know you wish to parley. I, too, have no desire for further bloodshed. Nor do I desire your people as chattels. Rather, that in exchange for certain information we will leave peacefully if you agree to cooperate.”
**********
A large open sided pavilion had been erected outside the walls of the Vrann city, directly in front of the massive barbican. The gate to the citadel was open, and a body of Vrann warriors stood tensely in the shadow of the portal. The twelve guards suspiciously eyed an equal number of Humin land-sailors – the combined survivors of the land-ships Valiant and Intrepid – who stood a similar distance from the marquee, and returned their gaze with identical mistrust.
Beneath the pavilion, seated on a cushion strewn mat were Hedjin and Sophia. Opposite them was Jarrin, captain of the Intrepid, who had located the survivors of the Valiant two days after Hedjin had escaped. With him was Argan, unforgiving and still bearing the bruises of their encounter. In the shadow of the tent the Humin were unveiled. As Sophia spoke Argan glared at Hedjin with ill disguised hatred, and if looks could kill the young Vrann would have been dead many times over.
Indeed, there had been very tense moments when Hedjin and Sophia had walked forth from the city several hours ago under a flag of truce. The Humin had stopped stock still at their approach, obviously amazed to see Sophia alive and well. Jarrin and Argan were in the lead, both armed with ray weapons. Argan impetuously flung up his pistol. Sophia cried out. Jarren knocked the weapon skyward and the beam sizzled harmlessly over their heads as on the city wall grim faced Vrann warriors drew back their arms in preparation to hurl their javelins.
Hedjin swiftly turned and shouted a halting command. Too late – several missiles flew, landed within feet of the jittery Humin. Sophia desperately shouted in her own language. There was a brief struggle as Argan was restrained. Sophia spoke again. The tension eased with her words and after a few minutes of heated argument with Argan Jarren slowly walked forth to meet them.
The young Vrann was sure that if it hadn’t been for Jarrin’s sober temperament that the meeting would have ended in a bloodbath. Indeed, Hedjin was uneasy in the presence of Argan, but hid his feelings well. He didn’t fear the man, but was wary of him in the same way he would be wary of a wild bakru. Considering his assault on Sophia Hedjin wondered why she hadn’t ordered Jarrin to chain the fellow and his lackeys forthwith. He could only assume the woman felt that because they were so few in number that she needed every member of her crew despite the risk.
Hedjin was brought to the present by Sophia as she turned to him and gave him a translated summary of her conversation with her fellow Humin.
“I’ve convinced Jarrin of the feasibility of my proposal,” she began. “As I told you as we walked to meet my men – the amulet your father wears could be a clue to what we are searching for. Again, I affirm we will depart in peace if you release me unharmed and provide all information concerning how it came into your possession.”
“Is that all you ask?” he replied, warily.
“There is ... one other thing,” she continued carefully. “We must be assured that the information isn’t misdirection, that you are not sending us on a futile quest. You must accompany us as a sign that what you have revealed is the truth.”
Hedjin stiffened. He’d anticipated other demands for gold, or at least materials and foodstuffs for their expedition, but not that he was to be a hostage to some mad, suicidal journey; for he knew very well how the amulet had been obtained, and the dangers that had nearly killed his grandfather, all graphically described in the man’s journal.
“To seek the source of the amulet is to seek death,” he bluntly stated. “Many years ago and before he was chief my grandfather, Rann, led an expedition to the Western Lands of which we know but little. They journeyed for many ten-days in search of the fabled Inland Sea, the terrain gradually rising to form a vast plateau cut through by a mighty canyon that blocked further progress. In the daunting abyss, whose depth was so great it seemed to cleave the world in twain, flowed a broad glistening river that had sculpted with its windings a multitude of imposing peaks, butts and ravines.
“These strange forms nestled between the chasm’s outer walls, which encompassed such a span that the further rim of the yawning gulf could barely be discerned. The fantastic coloration and astounding shapes of the landscape held the men in rapture to such degree that they failed to see the danger falling on them. From above came an awful cry – the gibbering parody of mirth. Raan looked up as did his men and a heavy weight of terror came upon them, for in the sky was a flying monster the like of which they’d never see before.
“Its entire body was vivid green. The creature’s wingspan was vast – at least six times the height of a Vrann. The wings were like vast leathery sails stretched between its hind legs and the greatly lengthened forth finger of its forelimbs. Two necks, long and narrow, were each surmounted by the travesty of a man-like head. In the centre of each head was a single glaring crimson eye - large, staring and filled with rage and hate that struck the shocked men with its baneful gaze. Long fangs protruded from the thing’s blubbery lips to complete the horror of its evil mien.
“It plummeted upon them, fire jetting from both maws. Men screamed, fell burning. The rest madly scattered in utter terror. The thing swept about. My grandfather’s bakru stumbled, its foot caught in a hole. His mount fell. He leapt clear, hit the earth in a roll and came to his fee to see the winged horror diving at him, spewing fire.
“Rann threw himself aside. Sulphurous flames singed him, tore a scream of agony from him. He fought through the pain, stumbled to his mount. Its leg was broken. It lay helpless, moaning. My grandfather turned, gripped by fear and desperation as he saw more men fall beneath the horror’s blazing fire. Swiftly, he jerked a javelin from its mount upon the saddle, fitted it to his spear-thrower and waved his arms to draw the monster’s evil gaze.
“The horror saw him, dived. He hurled the missile with all his strength and leapt aside as his hideous adversary vomited roaring fire. The hurtling javelin, more by luck than skill, flew within one of the creature’s gaping maws lodging deeply in its throat. The monster faltered in its flight, smoke leaked from its jaws. Then a mighty thunderclap rent the air to the accompaniment of billowing smoke and fire. Torn asunder the creature tumble from the sky, struck the earth, a burning shattered thing. One part bounced away and struck Rann’s chest.
“My grandfather picked it up - a trophy of his foe’s vanquishment. But victory was short lived, for in the sky at a distance was a swarm of other monsters swiftly winging towards him. He looked wildly about and found he was the sole survivor. He sprinted for a riderless bakru, leapt into its saddle and rode with lightning’s swiftness from that place of terror. Barely did he escape with his life. Your journey there is a suicidal undertaking.”
Sophia was silent for a moment as she digested this information. Despite the danger her pulse quickened with excitement. The monsters were clearly machines, no doubt designed to keep away any snooping superstitious Vrann. Clearly they had been manufactured by her ancestors - the faction who had left in protest at the conquest of the natives. Hard resolve came upon her. She was certain the salvation of her people was at hand and nothing must stand in its way. The main industrial size food processing machine, or “pot” as it was colloquially called, had broken down. There were no spare parts to repair it, and over the centuries the knowledge of their manufacture had been lost. In as little as five months her people would succumb to the horrors of starvation, for the two smaller pots of the expedition couldn’t manufacture food in sufficient quantity. Their only chance was to find the faction who had fled into the wilderness, mostly scientists whose knowledge and equipment their descendents hopefully retained – knowledge that would enable the pot to be repaired.
“I have no doubt this is a journey into danger,” replied Sophia. “Nonetheless I am resolved to undertake it.” Her expression became as hard as granite as she continued. “I have weapons that can burn your city to the ground, remember that. Spare your people. Speak the truth and come with us in peace.”
Hedjin was hard pressed to stifle a cynical sneer. Humin arrogance was before him in all its naked ugliness. She might speak of not wishing violence, but she was prepared to threaten vicious retribution if her will was thwarted in the slightest. He’d been childishly naive in believing that through kindness to Sophia he might be rewarded with some advantage to his people. The vision of the Voice of Winds was proven true - the woman was inextricably linked with his future, but not in the way he’d built his hopes – as a potential harbinger of peace between their people.
“I will comply,” he said. “What other choice do I have,” he bitterly concluded.
**********
Seven ten-days had passed. The land-ship was at rest. Her sails were furled and ground-anchors secured her at a safe distance from the precipice of the mighty canyon Hedjin’s grandfather had discovered all those years ago. The young Vrann stood against the rail, gaze turned skyward, ignoring the picturesque scene before him as were other members of the anxious crew who’d been scanning the heavens for more than an hour.
Despite the crowded vessel Hedjin felt alone among an alien people. He missed his friends, his family and even the irascible Zamra. He would have liked to have brought his bakru at the very least. She would have been an anchor to all that was familiar. But the land-ship was ill-suited to the transport of such a beast, and so he had been forced to relinquish this idea. He touched his horns at the memory of the Ceremony of Adulthood that had been hastily conducted before departure, and consoled himself with the knowledge that he had at least achieved this milestone.
Hedjin brought his wandering thoughts to the present. Unknown creatures circled above them, so high that they were mere dots against the vast expanse of azure. Were they frightful fire breathing monsters, or harmless karhaw whose only food was carrion? It was impossible to tell, for the things came no closer to the earth.
“We’re wasting time,” observed Argan sharply. “This savage of yours,” he continued to Sophia, “has spun you a wild tale. He is the only danger here,” he continued, glaring at Hedjin who stood several feet away from the pair. “I’m sure sharp knives can persuade him to speak the truth.”
Hedjin stiffened. He had, through diligent study during the course of their long journey, mastered the Humin’s language or engish as they called it. Most of the crew had viewed him with hostility even before he had come aboard. But he had applied himself assiduously to the tasks of a land-sailor, and when the ship had been becalmed had joined them on the treadmill that turned their craft’s huge wheels when the winds failed, labouring for hours on end at the exhausting task without complaint.
His strength and stamina had won if not their friendship then at least their respect, and as time passed they slowly came to accept him as part of the company. All except Argan that is - the man bore him a grudge that would endure to the grave. During the voyage his enemy had sought to goad him on numerous occasions through petty incidents, hoping the Vrann would snap and give him the excuse to inflict punishment, and now he was again seeking an avenue for revenge.
“I have told you all that I know,” replied Hedjin in engish, the reins on his temper frayed dangerously to breaking point by the incessant provocations. “I have withheld nothing. My grandfather was an honest and sober man. Fantastic though it is I do not doubt the truth of his journal’s account, and neither should you.”
Argan’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward aggressively, knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll doubt who I like, savage,” he hotly spat.
“Enough,” cried Sophia as she stepped between the two, placed her hands on their chests and thrust them forcefully apart. The bristling men glared at each other, barely held in check by the ray-pistol now gripped tightly in the woman’s hand.
Although Hedjin hadn’t spoken of it Sophia suspected Argan, despite her commands, had been regularly needling him. No doubt the Vrann hadn’t complained because he didn’t want to be seen as incapable of fighting his own battles. Silently, she cursed the stupidity of both men, and was about to vent her feelings when a frightened cry from a lookout alerted all to danger.
The crew turned. A collective gasp of horror burst from many throats as their eyes beheld the frightful things clambering over the lip of the abyss. Already three had gained firm ground. The threat had come from below rather than above, and so focused had they been on the heavens that the warning had come too late, and in an instant the vile monsters were on them in a savage rush.
The charging monsters were frightful to behold. Their torsos were humanoid, but they ran on all fours and the hind limbs as with the front limbs were arm-like in appearance. The four giant hands were taloned. Their heads were spheres bereft of eyes, nose and mouth. Two long arms, like those of a huge squid, sprouted from their backs and writhed grotesquely like enormous worms. The things stood at least seven feet at the shoulder and were covered in scales of an ivory hue. All this Hedjin took in at a glance, and then the frightful things were upon them, swiftly climbing the sides of the land-ship, gouging talons tearing at her hull.
Grimly, Sophia fired her ray-pistol. A monster fell back, crushing another beneath its hideous bulk. From the poop-deck Jarren’s weapon spat deadly rays, and a second creature tumbled to the earth. Then the things were over the taffrail and among the terrified crew. Men screamed as they were crushed or torn asunder by fiercely rending tentacles and talons. Sophia cursed, shot again. Her hideous foe crashed smoking to the deck, but before she could destroy another monster its lashing limb struck the weapon from her hand and in the process knocked her to the boards.
Argan saw Hedjin snatch a six foot boarding pike from the dead and rush to save Sophia. In the face of overwhelming foes the end seemed certain, but before he died the hate filled man was determined to have revenge. He jerked his dagger free and lunged at Hedjin’s unprotected back, his face a twisted thing of utter odium.
Sophia rolled and barely evaded the slashing talons of her monstrous foe. The woman glimpsed Argan’s murderous lunge as she gained her feet. She cried a desperate warning: “Behind you!”
Hedjin quickly spun about swiftly thrusting with the pike. The tip slammed into Argan’s chest before he could evade the darting point. The man gasped. His eyes rolled. The dagger slipped from his hand. The Vrann wrenched his weapon free and his enemy fell lifeless to the deck. Hedjin’s foe was dead, but he couldn’t relax for a moment for now he had to face far more formidable opponents.
Before the corpse had a chance to hit the boards Hedjin was rushing to Sophia’s side as she ducked more madly whipping tentacles. He thrust viciously at the creature. The pike-head skidded off its scaled hide. For all his strength and the hardness of the steel he might as well have poked it with a stick.
He leapt away as the monster reached for him rather than the woman. A lancing ray flared. The thing dropped smoking to the deck. Hedjin turned. Jarren had shot the creature from the poop. But the Vrann’s relief turned to horror - three more things swarmed the captain of the ship. One fell beneath a stabbing ray, but the remainder swiftly leapt upon him. A scream rang out; then another and another.
Hedjin’s wild gaze swept the deck. The ship was a charnel house of mangled corpses. Three more monsters stalked across the bloody boards towards him. From above a frightful cry rent the air. He glanced up. The black dots in the sky had descended and terror gripped him – they were the monsters his grandfather had so eloquently described. The day was truly lost.
With a wild oath he hurled the pike at the advancing monsters, scooped Sophia in his arms and leapt across the rail. He hit the ground hard, his powerful legs absorbing the bone jarring impact. In an instant he was up and madly running. Behind him a monstrous body struck the earth in swift pursuit. Above, winged horrors swept down towards him in a rush.
At any moment he expected the agony of burning fire to consume him. Behind him the thing closed distance like a thundering racehorse. Its tentacles lashed out, ensnared the Vrann and Sophia in an unbreakable grip of iron, crushing them together. The woman whimpered. Hedjen felt the pounding of her heart. The situation was absolutely terrifying.
But the monster, rather than ripping them asunder, merely held them. Its pace slowed to an amble as it moved toward the canyon’s edge. Hedjin managed to rein in his bolting terror. He turned his head and saw that the remainder were following. The flying monsters circled observantly several times then climbed skyward, diminishing into blueness. It appeared that their demise had been postponed. Another moment of stomach churning terror ensued as their captor swung over the precipitous edge and began its hair raising descent, securely grasping the sheer stone with the claws of its four powerful hands.
“What are these things and where do you think they are taking us?” enquired Hedjin shakily, not really expecting Sophia to know, but speaking out of the need to say something to distract both of them from the horror of it all.
There was a moment of silence as Sophia pulled herself together, and in the interval Hedjin spoke again, this time more thoughtfully as he gained further control over his fear, which allowed reason to come to the fore: “You have been keeping too many things from me. Your crew have been butchered to the last man. We are on our own. I can’t help you if I’m ignorant. Tell me everything.”
Sophia hesitated. Hedjin seemed friendly enough, but what was really going on in his mind? So far she had kept silent, fearing that if he knew all her people would be dead from starvation within mere months he might refuse to cooperate further, or even sabotage the mission. It would be a bloodless victory for the Vrann who could then reclaim their ancestral lands unopposed.
Everything was a risk - to tell the truth or to withhold it. Either choice could result in the failure of the mission and the demise of her people. He seemed sincere and she desperately needed help. Sophia decided to take a chance and reveal all.
“My ancestors fled their world,” she began, “because it was dying as a result of Humin folly – their wanton pollution of the globe. The richest and most powerful nations built ships to carry colonists to your planet which our wise men had discovered with their tek, but only a handful of people from the teeming billions could be saved. The rest would perish with the Earth.
“All the poorer nations came to hate the richer; blaming them for the unmitigated disaster. Tensions grew as conditions rapidly worsened. Global war erupted on the eve of my ancestor’s departure. Terrible weapons of mass destruction rained down upon the world. The other ships never made it off the ground.
“My ancestor’s vessel had been hastily constructed, so desperate was the situation and so imminent the end. Things went wrong. The crops and livestock they brought with them died on the voyage. They arrived here on the verge of starvation, and soon discovered they couldn’t eat the local wildlife. Only their tek saved them – the pots that can convert your food to something we can eat. But now our tek is failing, and again grim famine stares us in the face.”
Sophia paused in her narration, overcome by the horror in the journals that she’d read, which detailed the grimness of those early days and the suffering that her ancestors had endured.
“And what has this to do with our journey here, and these things that have captured us?” prompted Hedjin.
“Not everyone agreed with the conquest of your people and the driving of them from their land,” continued Sophia. “Our wise men, or scientists as we call them, vehemently protested but their objections were overruled. Appalled, they denounced my ancestors and fled into the wilderness aboard a flying machine, taking their knowledge and much of their equipment with them. We haven’t seen them since. These things that have captured us are products of their tek. I can tell by the whirring and clicking of their parts. They are the only evidence that the scientists may have left descendents, and to them I hope we are being borne. No doubt they wish to question us.”
“And now you seek their aid, hoping they can save you, and if they can that they will?”
“Yes,” she simply replied.
Both fell silent as their captor continued its descent. Sophia wondered if she’d revealed too much as Hedjin contemplated what she’d told him. The Vrann knew, as he was sure Sophia realised that all he had to do was to ensure the failure of her quest, and thus victory for his people would be gained. Even if he died in the process his people would eventually discover the Humin had met a dire end.
He thought about it long and hard, remembering the famine of his childhood. A plague of koru had afflicted the desert in one of their periodic eruptions. The pests darkened the sky with their swarms and blanketed the earth with their crawling, burrowing bodies. Nearly everything had been veraciously consumed by the vermin. His people had grown thin. Many children perished. He’d been lucky to survive that awful year. Would it be right to let Humin children suffer such a fate? Was the life of a Vrann child worth more than that of a Humin? He was no closer to an answer to this disturbing question when they reached the bottom of the deep canyon.
Their captors began to follow a broad river whose source was a large perennial spring system some miles away. The banks of the watercourse were dense with lush vegetation similar in appearance to that of the environs of the Vrann citadel, but far more riotous due to the greater abundance of water.
They were skirting the margins of the greenery when Hedjin’s keen eyes saw a flash of movement in the verdure. It was the merest glimpse of something suggestive of a man-like figure, then it was gone leaving him uncertain if it had merely been a trick of light and shadow on windblown leaves. Nonetheless he mentioned his suspicions to Sophia in his native tongue which their captors, no doubt remotely controlling the machines, couldn’t understand should they be eavesdropping.
She joined him in his observation and moments later the searching woman gasped. “Over there,” she said pointing with her chin. “I’m sure I saw movement. I think you’re right. Something ...”
A tremendous noise cut short her speech. A plume of smoke billowed from the greenery. Then another and another, accompanied by more thunderous reports. The mechanical monster carrying them shuddered under the heavy impact of flying shot. The thing stumbled, fell. Hedjin rolled free of its flaccid limbs and quickly crawled to Sophia.
More and more terrific blasts roared out. The astonished Vrann looked wildly about as he flung a protective arm about the prostrate woman. All six machines were writhing on the ground, sparks snapping from their pierced integument. A savage yell drew Sophia’s startled gaze. Black figures erupted from the greenery. They came at them in a rush through roiling gun smoke, screaming battle cries as they madly dashed towards the pair.
Escape was impossible. Hedjin tore a rock from the soil. He stood with Sophia and waited tensely as the charging foe snared them in a glittering circle of threatening blades. Sophia gasped at the sight of the twelve warriors. Their features were quite Humin as was the proportions of their muscular physiques, but their skin was as dark as a Vrann’s and their eyes were a startling violet hue. They stood warily, suspiciously eyeing the couple. They did not attack, but neither did they lower their menacing weapons. The tension in the air was almost palpable.
Sophia unveiled her face and in an instant felt the burning rays of Farz. There was a collective gasp of astonishment from the dark warriors at the sight of her countenance. Quickly she covered her features and swiftly spoke.
“I am Humin as you appear to be. We have come from across the desert. Our land-ship was attacked by those machines. This Vrann is my companion. We mean no harm to anyone. Those things that captured us are machines of Humin manufacture,” she continued. “Why are you destroying your own creations? What is going on?”
A man stepped forth from among the circle of warriors. He appeared to be of middle age and was of stocky build. The man was clothed in a kilt-like garment as were the others. Sturdy sandals sheathed his feet, and a headband of turquoise beads that indicated his rank completed his apparel.
“I am Stev,” he announced, “war-leader. You will come with us. Hon, our chief, will tell you what he deems fit. It is not for me to say. Perhaps you are friends, perhaps you are foes. That also is for him to determine. I can say this, however - you will be killed if you resist or try to escape.”
The man’s words were heavily accented, his Engish barely understandable. Hedjin dropped the rock in disgust. He’d well and truly had enough of being threatened, but saw there was no alternative to surrender.
The warriors herded them towards the riverbank, and as they entered the verdure Hedjin saw the bronze weapons that had made the thunderous smoke spouting noise. They were a type of matchlock musket. Their barrels were five and a half feet in length with a bore slightly larger than an inch. The ten guns were mounted on tripods as they were far too cumbersome to be fired from the shoulder. The Vrann being unfamiliar with firearms didn’t know what they were, but his sensitive nose detected the residue of fired gunpowder, which he associated with the odorous smoke and thunder that had destroyed their mechanical captors.
Although the knowledge of gunpowder manufacture had been lost to Sophia’s people she recognised the weapons from drawings in surviving history books. Her heart sank for she knew they were very primitive, and if this indicated the level of their captor’s technology she doubted if they’d have the knowledge to save her people. Had all their striving been for naught? With an effort she thrust despondency from her for she knew this bleak emotion would only worsen things.
There was a delay of several minutes as the guns were reloaded and demounted from their tripods, but within about an hour and a half of solid marching they had arrived at the stronghold of their captors, or Meenu as the people called themselves. As they stepped forth from the lush vegetation bordering the river Hedjin saw the Meenu residence was a cliff dwelling hewn from a craggy sandstone escarpment that overlooked the waterway. Each home was a cave like structure cut into the rock, one atop the other, giving the appearance of a tiered apartment-like complex.
Most homes were two stories in height. Some were interlinked perpendicularly while others were connected horizontally. Stone ladders, bridges and steps connected the various levels of the huge structure. The windows were horizontal slits, clearly defensive, as were the narrow doorways. Crenulated terraces and turrets added to the fortress-like appearance of the conurbation, whose considerable expanse indicated a substantial population.
There was a cleared space of about a hundred yards between the river and the cliff where the dwellings had been carved, but no sign of crops or any form of recent agricultural activity. Hedjin’s keen eyes, however, did discern overgrown furrows and irrigation ditches, and he wondered how the population was fed if the fields were so neglected. He was to later learn that due to a state of siege edible fungi grown in subterranean chambers now served as the staple diet of the Meenu.
They had halted at the margin of the trees, and Hedjin also noted the sudden tenseness of his captors - a contrast to their alert but confident demeanour when they’d been marching beneath the sheltering canopy of the trees. Stev barked orders. Edgy warriors scanned the sky. Gunners kindled the smouldering match-cords (slow burning fuses) of their unwieldy muskets by blowing upon them. Three strident blasts were blown from an animal horn to announce their presence. These were quickly answered by an equal number from an observation turret. They set out across the cleared space at a brisk march.
Sophia sensed the tension mount the further they moved into the open. There was always at least two Meenu looking skyward. They were half way across when it happened. Hedjin, looking to the rear, saw it first as it swept low over the trees. The winged horror dived upon them, breathing fire from twin heads. There wasn’t time to shout a warning. He lunged against Sophia, knocking her aside. Both tumbled to the ground; felt the wash of burning heat as jetting flame roared passed them in a narrow miss.
Others weren’t so lucky. There was an explosion as gunpowder ignited. Men screamed horribly. A huge body rushed low overhead. The air was violently stirred by its swift passage, the beat of its monstrous wings. The crack of heavy musket fire thundered from the conurbation’s turrets. Hedjin looked up. The monster was swiftly banking to again strafe them with its liquid fire.
He looked quickly about. The warriors were down, some dead, others dying. One of the heavy muskets lay nearby, its match smouldering. Hedjin lunged, grabbed the weapon, Sophia having explained its use and function. He heaved it up as more musket fire erupted from the Meenu habitation. The monster flew at him, huge, terrifying. He blew upon the match, opened the pan, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The serpentine snapped match to the pan. There was a flash. The musket roared, billowed copious smoke. Without a tripod the tremendous recoil hurled Hedjin violently to the earth. The weapon was wrenched from his hands. The breath was knocked savagely from his lungs. He glimpsed the terrifying horror through roiling smoke as it came at him. He had missed and he knew the end had come upon him.
As the flying monster rushed at him Hedjin saw it waver in its fight. The mechanical nightmare passed not more than thirty feet above his prone body. Briefly it gained height, but then crashed to earth seventy yards away. There was a whoosh of flames and a searing blast of fiery heat as its tank of liquid fire erupted in explosive conflagration. Burning fragments were scattered far and wide. One piece struck Hedjin. He swore violently, rolled.
Sophia screamed. Another fragment had set her clothes partially alight. Hedjin flung himself on her; felt the brief bite of fire before it was quickly smothered by his body. She clung to him in her moment of terror which seemed an age. Slowly her fear ebbed, and she became conscious of his body pressed against her – his warmth, the sense of strength his masculinity exuded and the strange but not unpleasant scent that was natural to his people. Through her gloves she felt the well defined muscles of his back, traced them with her fingers. Her breath quickened with unsought excitement.
It was a spontaneous reaction. Sophia’s people were rather puritanical. Both men and women were expected to be celibate until married. Like most of her peers she possessed a considerable amount of suppressed sexual energy as a consequence. But out here, far from home, the usual pressures of conformity did not exist and the constraints were slowly slipping. Indeed, after so much time together it was increasingly difficult for Sophia to see Hedjin, who possessed an innate nobility of character, as a savage let alone an enemy.
Sophia caught herself in time. She pushed Hedjin from her and struggled up.
“Are you hurt?” he asked with obvious concern as he rose with her.
What was also obvious was that he was aroused, and impressively so. Sophia became even more flustered at the sight. Her mind was a chaos of emotions, which was a marked contrast to her usual patrician reserve. Her knees were weak, and she didn’t know what to say or do unlike Hedjin who was not at all disconcerted, for there was no concept of sexual shame among his people. For Sophia the situation was saved by Stev’s fortuitous intrusion.
“We must move quickly,” he said as he glanced skyward. “More of the dagon,” he continued, naming the thing that had attacked them, “may set upon us at any moment. Then somewhat grudgingly to Hedjin: “You saved us. I am grateful. Hon, our chief, will be advised.”
Of the twelve warriors six had been slain outright, either caught in the dagon’s fire or killed by shrapnel from exploding ammunition. In the extremity of the situation it was decided that the bodies and muskets would be left where they lay to be collected later. The survivors then set off at a sprint for the citadel and within a few minutes had arrived at its tower flanked gate.
The portal swung open just enough to allow admittance and was swiftly barren behind them by clearly apprehensive guards. As Stev hustled them up flights of steps, along walkways and more stairways to the upper levels of the habitation, it became clear to Hedjin that the Meenu were in a state of siege, for the stonework was scorched in many places from what could only be dagon fire.
His speculations were cut short by their arrival at the imposing edifice of a building of considerable extent – one many times larger than the homes of the plebeians he had seen. It was a long rectangular structure carved from the cliff face. It presented a fortress-like facade to the world – one of high slit embrasure windows and narrow iron bound doors. The frontage was heavily sculptured, far more so than the homes of the commoners, in arabesque patterns of bas relief with insets of semiprecious stones, and this ornament softened to some degree the otherwise brutal architecture of the residence.
Upon Stev’s command heavily armed guards at the entrance of the building granted them admittance, and as they stepped across the threshold Hedjin’s observant gaze noted holes in the high ceiling of the narrow corridor they strode along – apertures through which missiles and boiling water could be poured on foolhardy invaders.
The short hall debouched into a dim chamber lit by lamplight. At its further end was a broad dais, and on this a massive sandstone throne whose brooding occupant was even more impressive. The man was a veritable giant. Seven feet tall, massively muscled and with a face that seemed rough hewn from granite. The gaggle of courtiers at his feet was dwarfed by his imposing presence.
Hon, chief of the Meenu, sat in ominous silence. His anvil of a chin rested on his sledgehammer fist, his elbow propped upon the arm of his throne. Shadows played across his form, accentuating his seamed visage and the mighty thews of his impressive physique. His violet eyes roved over the approaching group. Their gaze fixed on Sophia’s robed form, and dark interest stirred within his midnight soul as he sat up straight.
Hedjin’s captors hustled him along, and when he and Sophia stood before the throne ensconced chieftain Stev launched into a detailed account of their capture, and the young Vrann’s role in their escape from the menace of the dagon.
Hon, whose steady inscrutable gaze had been fixed on Sophia all the while during the narrative, turned his attention to Hedjin. He spoke quietly. But his voice was deep, and its timbre carried something of the raw brutality and dynamism of the man.
“The Vrann have never been our enemies,” he announced. “You destroyed the dagon and thereby saved my men. I do not yet consider you a foe.” His eyes swivelled back to Sophia. “The woman, however,” he continued, “is another matter. Unveil,” he ordered sharply.
Sophia, who had been growing increasingly uncomfortable under Hon’s unnerving scrutiny, did so with noticeable reluctance.
Her veil fell way and at the sight of her face Hon swiftly stood, his sudden movement making her start thus stifling what she was about to say.
“It is as I thought,” he rumbled. “You are a True Humin as the Purists would say; not impure creatures as they describe us with their debasing appellations.”
Hedjin tensed as Hon descended and swiftly strode to stand before Sophia. She flinched as he towered over her, a massive figure of utter menace. The Vrann’s guards closed in upon him. They roughly clasped his limbs as the Meenu chieftain swiftly tore away Sophia’s hood and grabbed her by the hair.
“Let go,” she cried in fear and pain.
Hon grinned maliciously. “Yes,” he said. “You are much like Uyana, leader of the Purists – I sense your pride, your arrogance and condescending attitude to those you consider your inferiors. I sought peace between our people through marriage to her, but she rejected me, humiliated me; told me that union between us would be like mating with an animal.
“An animal,” he roared in rage and indignation as he grabbed Sophia’s robe, and with one swift and brutal wrench tore the garment from her.
Hedjin swore, struggled mightily. His guards piled on him, bore him to the floor by weight of numbers. Sophia cried, tried to cover her nudity with her free hand. Hon grabbed her wrists, hauled both arms above her head so she stood on tiptoes, helplessly exposed before him.
“Enough,” shouted Hedjin. “Your brutality is unbecoming of a chieftain and a man. Desist. This woman has done nothing to incur your wrath.”
Hon released Sophia and she tumbled weeping to the floor. The chieftain focused his wrathful gaze upon the Vrann.
“So,” he said in a quiet but dangerous voice. “You’d defend the wench like a fairytale paladin of ancient Earth; how amusing.”
Hedjin knew the situation was desperate in its extremity. He decided to throw caution to the wind and risk everything.
“If you mean will I fight you for possession of the woman, then I will, and for your throne as well if you’ve courage enough to accept my challenge, which I doubt.”
The courtiers gasped in astonishment at the youth’s brash temerity. Hon roared an oath, rushed Hedjin and brutally kicked him in the ribs - a blow that would have shattered bone had he been Humin. The Vrann gasped in pain. He fought through the agony and again shouted a defiant challenge that all within the chamber clearly heard.
“You’re good at attacking a helpless captive. Call off your lackeys and let us fight man to man; then we’ll see how brave you really are.”
Already furious, the further charge of cowardice moved Hon to utter rage. “Let him go,” he shouted. “I’ll tear this insolent vermin limb from limb and cast his mangled corps to the wilderness’s scavengers.”
The guards let go and Hedjin suppressed a smile as he rose. He’d got the measure of the man. Hon was an arrogant fellow, prideful of his physical prowess and quick to take offense at any imputation that threatened his sense of masculinity. It had been easy to goad the volatile chieftain to incautious action, and the Vrann now sought to provoke him further for he knew that an angry opponent is often a careless fighter in his rage.
“I look forward to sitting on you throne and seeing you lying bleeding at my feet.”
Hon charged Hedjin, fists wildly swinging; an incoherent cry of utter rage bellowing from his bull-like throat. The Vrann nimbly sidestepped his rushing foe, swung a foot and tripped the flying man. The wild chieftain crashed heavily to the floor. Hedjin pounced upon his back, applied a brutal stranglehold.
The enrage chieftain staggered up, carrying his opponent with him. He bent back his arm and viciously thrust his fingers at Hedjin’s eyes. The Vrann turned his head in time, sank his teeth into Hon’s ear. The chieftain would have screamed but for the choke that cut off his breath. Hon reeled, his vision darkening towards unconsciousness. He bent forward swiftly, desperately. The sudden powerful movement flung Hedjin over his foe’s back. He lost his grip, hit the floor hard.
Hedjin lurched erect as his opponent staggered back, gasping air. Hon had recovered somewhat and some of his fury had abated. The near fatal stranglehold had sobered him, and he realized that Hedjin would not be swept aside like the other foes he had fought. Both men began to warily circle each other.
Hedjin closed distance, tempting his opponent to strike. Hon took the bait and swung mightily. Hedjin nimbly sidestepped the wild roundhouse, darted in and slammed his fist against the fellow’s ribs. Hon grunted, tried to grapple with his foe. Hedjin ducked his grasping arms, leapt clear and kicked him in the side.
The Vrann circled his lumbering enemy, taunting him with mocking words. Hon, in pain and feeling frustrated by his inability to land a blow upon his agile challenger, again lost control. He flung himself recklessly at the lighter man, fists wildly windmilling. Hedjin nimbly danced about the chamber, avoiding the bull rush of his infuriated opponent and keeping him at a distance with snapping kicks.
Hon roared his rage, charged his tormentor. A kick caught him in the side, but such was his wrath he hardly felt the powerful blow. His arms swung like a propeller. One mighty fist caught Hedjin a glancing blow across the cheek and felled him to the floor.
The chieftain shouted a wild cry of dark triumph as the Vrann crashed to earth. Sophia cried in fear as the chieftain leapt. Hedjin rolled aside and Hon’s feet slammed down where he had lain. The Vrann lashed out with a mighty kick that struck his foeman’s knee. Hon screamed as bone shattered. He fell. His head struck hard stone. There was an audible crack as his skull split. He twitched for a moment and then lay deathly still. The fight was well and truly over.
Hedjin struggled to his feet, breathing hard. He limped to Sophia who was futilely attempting to hide her nudity with the torn rags that were all that remained of her apparel. Gathering her in his arms, he mounted the dais and boldly sat upon the throne with the woman on his lap. He glared insolent defiance at the silent and shocked courtiers and guards.
“I am chief by right of victory,” he daringly announced. “If any among you dare dispute this then step forward now.”
The claim was sheer bravado of course, but Hedjin felt he had to put on a bold front, for he felt that to display any sign of weakness or self doubt would embolden the foe to challenge his claim, which he suspected might be somewhat tenuous.
An elderly man stepped forward unhesitatingly, and the young Vrann experienced a sinking feeling. It seemed his hidden doubt was true - victory wouldn’t be so easy after all.
“I am Jayta, prime councillor to the former chief,” announced the stern faced savant. “You have won, true, but a strong right arm is only a part of being a leader. The question to be determined is - are you smart enough.”
“Hon didn’t seem a paragon of intelligence,” countered Hedjin, “for if he was he’d still be chief wouldn’t he, for surely I beat him with brains as well as brawn.”
“Hon gained the throne by right of succession,” explained Jayta brusquely “The law is different for a challenger such as you. The throne you sit upon is a throne of blood. It must be held by strength of arm, but also brain. By our laws those who fail perish. Submit to the test or you and your woman will be slain forthwith.”
Sophia, who had recovered most of her composure, bristled at the threat. She spoke sharply to the man.
“We came seeking aid, not confrontation. This situation was forced upon us.” She then explained the circumstances of her people, and the nature of the desperate quest they had embarked upon.
Jayta considered for a moment; then spoke: “The breast milk of our women contains bacteria that colonize the gut of our newborn. These microorganisms, created by our ancestors, convert indigenous foods to substances we can digest. I will be merciful and give you a wet-nurse. Within a few days you will be able to eat the plants and animals of this world. But as for helping the rest of your kind – only a Chief of the Meenu could order such a substantial undertaking. Your companion must submit to the Ordeal of the Pit and emerge victorious. Therein is the salvation of your people.”
“And how many have emerged victorious from this ordeal?” queried Hedjin suspiciously.
“Absolutely none,” replied Jayta with a smirk of unfeigned confidence.
“Then I will be the exception,” replied Hedjin calmly, though inwardly he didn’t feel calm at all. “When can the test begin?”
“Now is as good a time as any,” replied Jayta.
Sophia wanted to object. She didn’t want Hedjin to throw his life away, for she felt sure that the ordeal he’d have to face was rigged. Her heart sank as she looked desperately about the chamber. More guards had flooded into the room during the fray. Escape was impossible, but perhaps it was better to go down fighting in a desperate bid for freedom rather than be led passively to death.
Hedjin sensed her mood. He looked at her and smiled. “Courage,” he said. “Jayta has promised you will live regardless of the outcome. So long as you survive there is a chance you will be able to persuade the Meenu to help your people.
She searched his face and found no bravado, only sincerity. “You’d risk your life for me, for my people?” she asked, astounded.
“Vrann and Humin have been enemies for far too long. We have only one world to live upon. Is it not better that we do so in peace? What better way to start than with a noble act.” Then, before she could reply he turned to Jayta. “Bring clothes for my companion. She is ill at ease in this tattered raiment. Then we can proceed.”
Jayata was in no mood for further concessions. Hon lay dead, and though the man hadn’t been a particularly good chief he had been the Meenu’s chief nonetheless, and not the brash upstart he now considered before him.
“If you survive the ordeal, which you won’t, you can clothe her yourself. Now, follow me. We’re wasting time.”
Hedjin suppressed the hard words upon his tongue. He and Sophia rose, the woman clasping her ruined garment about her as best she could while Jayta detailed two men to carry away Hon’s body and prepare it for burial. The remaining guards parted and the couple followed Jayta from the chamber and down another hallway, the watchful warriors and courtiers close upon their heels. Shortly, the passage debouched upon a large courtyard in whose centre was a square pit thirty feet to a side and of equal depth. A ladder was brought and with this Jayta descended, bidding Hedjin to follow.
When the young Vrann reached bottom he found the prime councillor standing by the pit’s right hand wall on which were set five large blue tiles. Each tile (except for the second in the series which was blank) had a small red inward pointing triangle on every side. The triangles were repeated in a slightly different position on the other squares to form different motifs. Below this row of tiles were an equal number of square stone protuberances, each of which bore on its face a related pattern to those of the tiles above.
Jayata explained: “To pass the test you must choose an image that corresponds to the motif missing from the blank tile, thus completing the pattern. To make your choice depress the protuberance that you think has the answer on its face. However, once you make your selection all other protuberances will be locked and unable to be depressed. You have only one chance, so think carefully. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” replied Hedjin, curtly. He wanted to say a lot more. Sophia’s people were in danger and he was being forced to play this absurd game, but realized the futility of protest. Jayta ascended the ladder, which was swiftly drawn up. The Vrann focused his attention on the pattern before him, but his concentration was broken by a sudden unexpected rumble and Sophia’s cry of consternation.
Swiftly Hedjin spun about and he, too, gasped in shock at what he saw. A grid of iron spikes had sprung out of the rear wall like a multitude of switchblades, and the entire wall was now moving towards him at the rate of about a foot per second. He looked wildly around. There was no escape. The pit was too deep, its sheer sides glass smooth, and even if he did flee the many guards about its edge would make short work of him.
“Only by depressing the correct protuberance can you stop the wall and save yourself,” elaborated Jayta with a smirk.
Hedjin wanted to curse the man. With an effort he regained self-control. Now he knew why none had passed the test - a panicked mind couldn’t solve the puzzle. He began the ritual of the Empty Mind to calm his terror. His breathing and heart rate slowed. But the world didn’t fade from his consciousness for he did not enter a deep trance as he had before. He focussed his whole attention on the pattern before him. Thought at a conscious level stopped. The unconscious, with its vast storehouse of unrealized knowledge, welled up from the depths of his mind and took possession.
Sophia watched breathlessly as the wall advanced. Hedjin stood as unmoving as a statue, seemingly oblivious to his peril. Closer drew the lethal spikes, nearer still and with closing distance Sophia’s fear grew and grew. The glittering spikes advanced - twenty feet then ten, and yet Hedjin didn’t move an inch.
Terror reached its crescendo in the frantic woman. She was about to see her companion impaled before her eyes – a grisly death indeed. The horrid thought spurred her to desperate rashness. Sophia leapt at Jayta with a frenzied cry upon her lips: “Stop this madness,” she yelled frenetically.
They wrestled frenziedly. Guards lunged. A wild brawl erupted. One warrior fell, his jaw broken by Sophia’s savage blow. Another slammed the heel of his palm against her. Sophia stumbled, teetered on the pit’s edge. With a cry of terror she fell. But as she tumbled her clutching hand grasped her smug assailant and dragged him over. She twisted the man beneath her. They struck hard, the guard’s body cushioning her fall. The warrior screamed; his death-cry lost in the bedlam of shouting from above.
Sophia, bruised and breathless lay upon the corpse. She weakly turned her head. Her eyes went wide in terror. The lethal spikes were but a foot away. Her desperate gaze shifted to Hedjin. She tried to cry a warning but a gasping croak was all the she could utter. Closer advanced the deadly peril; lethal, unstoppable. Spikes pressed against her trembling flesh; others against Hedjin. Sophia screamed in anguish from the pain. Blood flowed. Jayta, sure that death had come for them, gloated down upon the helpless pair as the deadly points pierced deeper.
Then Hedjin’s hand moved with swift sureness. He depressed a protuberance; then stumbled as the rising agony broke through his concentration. The wall rumbled to a stop. Slowly, it reversed its direction and the bleeding Vrann collapsed upon the floor by Sophia.
Hedjin fought through pain and weakness. He’d been dimly aware of Sophia’s desperate fight. He crawled to her side, frantic with worry and found she had fainted from the pain. Her wounds bled considerably, but upon examination were not as deep as he first feared. With the shadow of his body he shielded her semi-nudity from the harsh rays of Farz as he glared up at the worried prime councillor.
“I’ve passed your stupid test,” he said in anger. “Now I am uncontested chief, and as your leader I command you bring clothes for my companion, help us from this pit and tend our injuries. And pray Sophia lives, for if she dies you will swiftly follow. This I truly swear.”
**********
Two days had passed. Sophia’s injuries were healing as were Hedjin’s, only swifter. Both were with Jayta in the private rooms of Hon which the Vrann and his companion now occupied. The walls of the room had been whitewashed with lime, and upon them were painted vibrant frescoes in an exuberant style, many of which had strongly erotic themes. The floor was paved with marble and upon this, in the centre of the room was a large table whose plain solidity and roan hued timber was typical of Meenu furniture. The scene was illuminated by early morning sunlight spilling through unglazed windows whose shutters were now open as was the door to the adjoining terrace.
About the table sat the trio on heavy backless chairs. The prime councillor had lost some of his fear that the new chief would seek revenge upon him. It had been quite a shock when Hedjin had survived the test. Sophia, who was now well enough to attend the conference, was another matter entirely, and Jayta did his best not to quail before the fierceness of her burning gaze.
“What do you mean you can’t help my people,” she hotly said as her face became a study of flaring wrath. “You have saved my life by giving me the milk. Your explanation had better be good, or I’ll whip you myself until the blood flows from your shoulders to your heels.”
“My lady,” he replied nervously, “as you’ve told me your people number in the thousands. Something I didn’t know beforehand. We simply do not have enough for all of them. At best we can save about a hundred. Only the Purists have the tek to culture the bacteria in sufficient quantity.”
Sophia swore luridly. Her injuries still pained her, and the discomfort wasn’t helping her waspish mood in any way.
“It seems we must have the help of these Purists,” observed Hedjin pragmatically as he placed a calming hand upon his furious companion. “Tell me more about them, and the cause of the enmity between you.”
“My ancestors, like those of Sophia, came from the stars,” began Jayta. “We conquered your forebears and drove them from their land, but not all of us agreed that this was right. Division arose. Threats were made against the dissenters. Fearing for their lives they fled to this land where they slowly built a life for themselves.
“A generation passed and again passionate disagreement reared its head. Some argued that we must adapt, that we must use our tek to change our unborn children to suit this world. Others thought this dangerous, that we would no longer be Humin if we did. Each side held their position with fervour and thus a split arose, with both camps going their separate ways.
“We Meenu are the children of this change. The Purists hate us. They consider us to be a corruption of the race, impure and inferior. By and large they have left us contemptuously alone, but Hon, in his ignorance sought to bring unity between our people by intermarriage. There hasn’t been much contact between Meenu and Purists over the centuries, and little did we realize how extreme Purist ideology had become. Uyana, leader of the Purists was outraged by Hon’s proposal and now seeks to exterminate us, such is her fanaticism.”
“Be this as it may,” interrupted Sophia. “My people and theirs are essentially the same. Surely the Purists will help us if they know our plight.”
Jayta considered for a moment. “The Purists, like you, are fair of skin, but all have blond hair and blue eyes. Are all your people like them?
“Our colouration varies. Most have brown hair and eyes,” replied Sophia. “But why do you ask? Surely this can’t make a difference. All of us are Humin like the Purists!”
“Oh, but it does to the Purists,” replied Jayta, bitterly. “They consider their colouration a sign of purity and superiority. They will judge you and your people as inferior, and therefore unworthy of salvation.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “This is absurd,” she darkly muttered. But then it struck her that her people’s attitude towards the Vrann, although not as extreme in her opinion, was in many ways similar to the Purists.
A sudden thunderous explosion rattled the room and its occupants, and interrupted further contemplation of the matter.
Hedjin swore. “What was that?” he cried.
All three leapt to their feet and rushed upon the terrace. In the abandoned fields they saw a mushrooming cloud of dirty smoke, and in a second felt the pattering rain of earthy debris thrown up by the blast.
Gazing skyward Hedjin saw three flying monsters circling high above. One machine released a globe from its claws. The sphere plunged. Sophia grabbed Hedjin and pulled him to the ground.
“Get down,” she cried as the tumbling globe struck the earth even closer to the Meenu habitation.
Again there was a tremendous blast. The earth shook. Debris whined in cracking ricochets from the building. Jayta groaned. The prime councillor lay bleeding on the pavers. He hadn’t been quite fast enough to seek cover, and a stony fragment had struck his arm a heavy blow.
The Meenu gunners now opened up upon the foe. A volley of cracking fire ripped the air. Musket balls tore madly skyward, only to fall short. The third machine released its deadly globe and to his horror Hedjin saw it would fall directly on them.
Hedjin acted swiftly. Grabbing Jayta, he hoisted the groaning man upon his shoulder and hauled Sophia to her feet.
“Run,” he loudly cried as he propelled the woman in the direction of the doorway.
Both tore through the portal, across the room and down a short hallway. The bomb exploded as they turned the corner. The ground leapt violently from the terrific blast and flung them to the floor. Stone cracked. Fragments of the weakened roof began to fall upon them. A large piece crashed down missing Hedjin by a foot.
The Vrann struggled up as the roof began to rapidly collapse. A fist size chunk of stone struck his shoulder. Another hit Sophia’s leg. She cried in pain and clutched her injury. More debris came crashing down in narrow misses. Dust billowed. Hedjin coughed, swore. He grabbed Sophia and the injured man. With a mighty effort he hoisted both upon his shoulders and bolted like a hare with rabid hounds in hot pursuit.
Hedjin madly fled. Behind him the roof collapsed completely in a mighty crash of dust and chips of flying stone. Fragments peppered him. He stumbled, nearly fell. Wild fear spurred him onward. He burst out upon another terrace where he sank to his knees; chest heaving in utter breathlessness as he carefully lowered his companions to the ground. Looking skyward he glimpsed the mechanical monsters, having dropped all their bombs, vanishing into distance. The danger had passed, but he knew it was only for the moment.
**********
“We must take the battle to the enemy,” announced Hedjin to the six grim faced councillors about the meeting hall’s large table. “The Purists have rediscovered the manufacture of explosives; a development no doubt engendered by the realization of your own accomplishment. They can bomb your city to rubble from the safety of the air. Only decisive action has a chance of saving you from annihilation. In order to formulate a stratagem I need to know their strength, the number and the nature of all their weapons. Can you give me these details?”
Jayta rose and spoke for his fellows. “Of the flying machines, or dagon as we call them, I think there are only four that remain. Of the wovas - the ground machines that captured you - perhaps an equal number are left. Our fire-tubes can deal with wovas, but as you said the dagon can now drop bombs from beyond the range of our weapons. They would decimate any force we sent against the Purist’s stronghold.”
“Can you manufacture more powerful fire-tubes that have a longer range?” asked Sophia. “From my study of history I know vaguely that there were two types – one was called kanon which could knock down strong walls, and the other, whose name I can't remember, was designed to destroy flying machines high in the air.”
“We have already thought of that,” replied Jayta, “but our land is poor in copper and tin. There just aren’t enough resources to make the more powerful fire-tubes you have mentioned. The ones we have are a recent invention and number only fifty. Having relied for centuries on their machines for protection, the Purists know little of fighting man to man.” Jayta muttered an oath. “If it weren’t for their flying machines, their mastery of the air, they could be defeated for we are twice their number.”
Jayta resumed his seat and despondent silence fell upon the gathering. Sophia’s mind, however, was far from inactive. The beginnings of an idea came to her and she conveyed it to the group, her pace of though accelerating as she spoke.
“There may be a way of overcoming our disadvantage,” she began, addressing everyone. “Your weapons inventory shows you still have many bows and arrows despite the fire-tubes rendering them largely obsolete. If a hollow tube filled with explosive was attached to an arrow’s shaft just below the head I’m sure, when ignited, could propel the missile to a height far greater than a fire-tube could cast its shot.
“If these modified arrows were launched in massed volleys I’m confident they could destroy the dagon, or at least force them to fly so high their bombs could not be dropped with accuracy. I have some scientific training. With my knowledge and the skill of your artificers I’m certain these weapons could be quickly made.
“In addition,” she continued, “these mechanical monsters, as you’ve told us, were originally designed to frighten away the Vrann – a non-violent method of defence. Only much later, when Purist ideology gained the ascendancy, they were modified to kill using what little tek remained. They were never specifically built as weapons of war, and this is a weakness that will also give us an advantage.”
“If Sophia thinks this will work then I support her plan,” said Hedjin after a moment’s thought. “Jayta, I want work started on the fire-arrows straight away, and at the same time we can prepare a campaign strategy and our warriors for battle should these new weapons prove themselves.”
**********
Four hours later the prototype fire-arrow exploded in its launch tube. Despite the failure Sophia and her assistants pressed on undeterred, and on a second attempt the improved missile roared skyward. Several more tests and tweaking of the design amply enhanced the fire-arrow’s capabilities, and the remainder of the day and the next saw the Meenu citadel in a frenzy of activity as every available hand was turned to the manufacture of the new weapons under Sophia’s watchful eyes.
Over this period the city was bombed three more times resulting in much damage and causalities. Upon Hedjin’s orders the woman and children were moved to the underground galleries where the Meenu grew their edible fungi. These ancient structures had been tunnelled deep into the cliff and proved to be effective air raid shelters, much to his relief.
It was down one such gallery that Sophia now made her way. She wiped the sweat from her brow as she eased through the throng of silent worried people that packed the hot and humid chambers. Sophia turned a corner and came upon the command centre where she saw Hedjin and other members of the council finalizing their battle plans. The men looked up expectantly upon her entry.
“The last batch of fire-arrows and their launchers are complete, and the launcher crews trained in their operation,” she said, commencing her report. “We have a thousand fire-arrows and a hundred launchers. Each launcher will be operated by a two man crew - one to aim the launcher and carry the quiver of ten missiles, and the other to load and light the missile’s fuse. In the process we’ve used up most of the explosives. I doubt we’ve time to manufacture more.”
“Then it will have to be enough,” replied Hedjin. “It’s late and we’ve done all we can. If there are no further questions or suggestions then this meeting is adjourned.” There were none and so he turned to Jayta and commanded: “Then ready our warriors for a dawn departure. All of you are now dismissed.”
The others left but Sophia lingered near the door. Hedjin, now familiar with Humin body language could tell something was amiss.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you worried the fire-arrows won’t be effective? You can speak freely. We are alone now.”
“No,” she replied gathering her courage for what she was about to say. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think she would utter the words trembling upon her tongue. It was fantastic, dangerous even, but she could no longer deny the way she felt, and to hell with all conventions.
“It’s not that. It’s the coming war. I’ve grown very fond of you. Well ... I ... I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” Flustered, Sophia turned away. “Damn,” she muttered. “Why am I finding this so difficult to say?”
Hedjin smiled understandingly as he gently turned Sophia towards him.
“You are finding it difficult because your desires are in conflict with your inhibitions. You are Humin and I am Vrann, and our two people have done their best to make us hate each other. But love finds a way. Is this not so?”
“Do you feel the same?” she asked nervously, searching his face intently, but uncertain of how to read his subtle alien expressions.
“Yes, he replied. “My feelings for you have slowly grown as we’ve gotten to know each other. But in my culture it is customary for the woman to convey her desire before the man responds. That is why I have remained silent until now.”
“Oh,” replied Sophia. Then she smiled and, casting aside the last restraints, expressed her yearning in a most joyous and unambiguous way.
**********
Hedjin looked carefully upon the walled citadel of the Purists from the vantage of a hilltop. The fortress-like habitation had been constructed adjacent to a broad river that meandered through the wide canyon that was the enemy’s territory. Beyond the city was a neat checkerboard of agricultural fields broken by the watery glint of irrigation ditches. These channels were connected to a wide semicircular canal that protected the citadel’s eastern flank with the river defending its western side so that the entire city was ringed by water. The moat was crossed by arching timber bridges, now destroyed to hinder the Meenu’s advance.
Lofty walls encircling the habitation - they were at least six times as tall as a man and were surmounted by crenulated parapets and strengthened by taller regularly spaced towers. From his elevated position the Vrann had a view into the city. The houses were densely packed single story structures of stone with thatched roofs. From what he could see the city’s population had grown significantly since its construction hundreds of years ago, and many houses were now jammed right up against the fortifications to take advantage of whatever space was available. Hedjin shifted his gaze skyward and saw the three surviving dagon circling high above.
The mechanical monsters had been sighted earlier in the morning when the Meenu forces, a thousand strong, had been about an hour’s march from the enemy city. They had been out in open country with only low scrub for inadequate cover. Hedjin remembered the blare of the warning trumpet. He’d shouted commands. More coded trumpet blasts had rolled across the flat terrain.
Hedjin readied his fire-arrow launcher as did the ninety-nine other gunners. The device was a length of bamboo-like plant that had been split in half and had a lightweight vertical wooden baffle along its side to protect the operator from the rocket tube’s exhaust. He placed it upon his shoulder and held it steady by two handgrips - one front and the other rear. The Vrann’s teammate drew a missile from his quiver and placed it in the launcher with the arrow’s notch fitted to a pin.
Hedjin tensely watched, prayed his men would hold their nerve. The fire-arrows weren’t terribly accurate. A concentrated volley and a dash of luck was their only hope.
The machines plummeted; demonical harbingers of fire, thunder and death. Hedjin, his sights on the enemy barked a command. His companion touched the rocket tube with a slow burning match affixed to a rod. The fire-arrow leapt skyward with a roar. At this signal ninety-nine others swiftly followed trailing smoke and flame, piercing heaven with their blaze and thunder.
One dagon was struck. It tumbled whirling from the sky. The others dropped their bombs and with madly flapping wings climbed heavenward as their deadly cargo plummeted to earth. The stricken monster crashed harmlessly half a mile away. One bomb missed, but the other exploded close enough to kill. The fearsome blast was an eruption of billowing smoke and flame. It tore men to bloody rags. It hurled their gory wreckage all about to paint a scene of blood drenched horror not soon forgotten.
Hedjin shuddered at the memory. He was glad Sophia was safe within the Meenu citadel. The Vrann brought his mind to the present. His warriors would have made an easy target if they’d been in dense formation, but he’d wisely arrayed them in a column of fifty widely spaced units each comprised of twenty men. But even so a single bomb had killed ten and badly wounded six.
He refocused his attention on the surviving dagon circling high above. They’d attacked again an hour later, but from a far greater altitude to avoid the fire-arrows. Fortunately, their crude bombs had missed the mark entirely. The Purists weren’t fools, though. No doubt they were now waiting for his men to bunch in tight formation for an assault upon the city. They’d probably attack when the river crossing was being made as this was when his warriors would be most vulnerable.
The Vrann didn’t like it, but the longer he delayed the more time he gave the Purists to improve their weapons or come up with something new, and they already had a technological advantage. He had to push forward despite the danger to the men under his command. Hedjin descended the hill and grimly issued orders to the commanders of his units.
**********
By late afternoon fifty rafts had been constructed from the willowy trees growing by the river. The circling dagon hadn’t attacked – yet. There was, however, increased activity on the parapet of the city’s wall. Sunlight gleamed on burnished helms and weapons. The Purists were readying themselves for battle.
Hedjin on the lead raft gave the order. A trumpet blared. Warriors boarded the rafts, poled them from the shore. The Vrann kept his eyes skyward. Midstream the dagon plummeted, wings furled like diving falcons. A hundred fire-arrows roared skyward in a blaze of smoke and fire. Bombs fell, exploded thunderously. A geyser of water drenched Hedjin. Waves rocked his raft. Frightened men swore, poled their craft furiously.
Luck was with him, but not so others. One raft took a direct hit and was blown to whirling bits. Body parts stained the water with oozing gore. The dagon, forced to fly low for greater accuracy also suffered casualties. A machine plunged to its doom, leaking smoke and fire, its mechanical vitals pierced by a dozen arrows. It struck the river fifty yards away with a mighty splash that hurled spray in all directions.
The surviving machines came about, swept low. Flaming jets gushed from their maws. A raft exploded into fire. Men screamed, died horribly. Matchlocks roared. One volley, then another as the first riflemen madly reloaded. A dagon wobbled in its flight. It dropped like a stone, struck a raft and sent more warriors to their deaths. The remaining machine climbed skyward chased by a swarm of blazing fire-arrows.
It too was hit and plummeted earthwards, crashing within the city. Then the rafts touched shore. But the danger was far from over. Arrows sleeted from the city walls, feathered wicker shields and men alike with cloth yard shafts. Hedjin gave commands. Trumpets blared stridently. The rafts of light but strong wood were quickly levered up. They were propped at an angle with poles to form mantlets – huge shields behind which warriors swiftly sheltered from the arrow storm.
The city’s huge gates swung wide. Wovas exploded forth in a bolting charge. A volley of matchlock fire sent one machine crashing to the ground, and then the others were swiftly among Hedjin’s men wreaking carnage.
“Away all fire-arrows,” yelled Hedjin as a wovas rushed madly at him.
Six hundred missiles, their heads wrapped in burning oily rags roared heavenward. They arched over the city’s walls, struck roofs. Flames roared as thatch caught rapidly alight. Hedjin dodged a whipping tentacle, dived beneath the machine and thrust mightily with his sword, but for all his strength the weapon skidded off its hard integument.
The wovas tried to trample him. Frantically, he scuttled sideways. The thing’s stomping limbs missed him by an inch. Again he dodged, avoiding death by the narrowest of margins. But then the machine’s frightful tentacles curved beneath its body and wrapped about the Vrann in an unbreakable embrace. Hedjin screamed as it began to squeeze with strength that would grind his bones to dust.
Hedjin fought against the pain, the crushing grip, but it was useless. He was as helpless as a babe in the coils of a constrictor. The agony mounted. His vision darkened. Death hovered like a vulture. Then, when all seemed lost the air was rent by thunderous explosions as musket balls ripped into the machine. The wovas staggered, collapsed sideways. Crowding warriors swiftly freed the barely conscious Vrann.
Within a minute Hedjin was on his feet surveying the battlefield. The remaining wovas had been destroyed, but the carnage they had wrought in so short a time had been horrific. The Vrann tore his sick gaze from the scene and looked to the city’s walls. Smoke billowed copiously shrouding the battlements, choking the defenders and obscuring their vision. The fire-arrows had started a swiftly spreading conflagration as windblown sparks set the roofs of other buildings rapidly alight.
Swiftly, Hedjin issued other orders. One of the huge mantlets was lifted by straining sweating men until it roofed them protectively. Thus covered they advanced towards the city’s gate. The half blinded defenders loosed a volley of arrows. Most missed. Some struck the mantlet, others hit the wicker shields of the foremost men. The crack of musketry sounded as Meenu riflemen provided covering fire.
The mantlet reached the gate. Straining warriors thrust two barrels of explosives against the mighty door. A rock crashed down upon the mantlet. Men cursed, staggered under the shaking impact. Fuses were lit. The desperate defenders guessed the ploy. They dumped buckets of boiling water on those below, but the mantlet was now propped at an angel against the gate and shed the steaming liquid like a roof.
Fuses hissed. Hedjin’s men burst from cover; ran. Most died with arrows in their backs. At such close range, even with the hindering smoke, it was nigh impossible to miss. Then the explosives detonated with avenging savagery. The huge doors were shattered, torn from their hinges by the terrific force of the blast. The walls shook. Defenders tumbled screaming from the parapet, their cries of terror silenced by hard earth.
A trumpet sounded. Hedjin’s warriors advanced towards the gate under the cover of raised mantlets. The Purists lost their nerve. Their machines had been destroyed, their defences breached. Their vaunted superiority lay shattered. Half blinded and choked by smoke with an unstoppable foe rolling upon them they fled – at first in ones and twos then in mass as dread spread among them in a plague of debilitating terror.
Thus Hedjin and his army entered the city unopposed. The streets were a chaos of fleeting soldiers and citizenry. Cries of terror mingled with the roar of leaping flames. The stench of smoke and blood predominated. Hedjin and his men grimly advanced up the main thoroughfare mercilessly driving all before them. The terrified inhabitants stampeded for the city’s eastern gate. Many were trampled in the terror stricken press of the wildly fleeing throng.
Shortly Hedjin stood before the central complex of the city – a series of interconnected dome-shaped buildings made from concrete, originally constructed when the metropolis had been a mere settlement and the tek to build such things still existed.
The complex was swiftly surrounded and Hedjin, leading a squad of twenty men penetrated its interior whilst others began a dragnet of the city in search of fleeing members of the Purist leadership.
Within half an hour they discovered the bodies within a courtyard garden of the complex. From Jayta’s description of the distinctive birthmark upon her cheek Hedjin knew it was the corpse of Uyana he looked upon. The woman rested on a Grecian style couch. An empty goblet lay upon the tiles beneath her pale hand, and all about in death’s repose were the members of her court. They had killed their children and then themselves by poison rather than endure conquest by those they thought inferior. Such was the degree of their fanaticism. Hedjin turned away from the tragic scene. He had won, but he could take no pleasure in his victory.
**********
Six months had passed. Hedjin, leaning against the stern railing of the land-ship Intrepid dejectedly watched Nova Londinium, the Humin settlement of Sophia’s people, slowly vanish into the distance. His craft rumbled along the coastal highway. On his right was the sea glittering with early morning light. To his left were forest clad hills that mounted ever higher to form the Thurian Range cut through by the Xyro pass. He was homeward bound for the Meenu city, but he took no pleasure in the thought or the beauty of the scenic route for Sophia was not with him, and this negated all his triumphs which seemed as ash before this tragedy. Indeed, all the hardships and dangers he’d endured were nothing when compared to the terrible loss of the woman he’d come to love.
He gazed dismally and with bitterness at the receding city of the Humin. It had been the city of his ancestors stolen and then renamed by the invaders from the stars; its graceful architecture of golden domes, towers and spires richly ornamented with ceramic tiles was a blend of elements reminiscent of Gothic and Islamic forms. Hedjin scowled. Now, he too, was the victim of theft, but what had been stolen from him was inestimably more valuable than ornately gilded stone.
The young Vrann thought of Leos, Sophia’s father, Summi Ducis of the senate, and bitterly cursed the man with every vile oath he knew as well as others of his fertile mind’s invention. Hedjin had saved his people. He had delivered the bacteria containing capsules that would enable Humins to eat native food. When he’d arrived about a month ago many had been close to death, their emaciated bodies rousing his pity. Now he felt a deep and bitter sense of betrayal.
Again, Hedjin replayed past events. It had taken considerable time to restore order to the Purist’s city, gain the trust and cooperation of its terrified population and manufacture the pills. Fortunately, the fanatics had been largely confined to Uyana’s inner circle and so this process, and the establishment of a peace treaty with the new governing council, although difficult, had not proved impossible as he had initially feared.
More time had been taken up by the return journey to the Vrann citadel to inform his anxiously waiting father, Muri, that he was safe, and his desire to establish a lasting peace with the Humin. Upon this matter the discussions had been long and vigorous, but in the end Hedjin had won the argument, and had embarked on his mission with Muri’s blessings. Now he wished he’d lost the debate.
His arrival in the land-ship with its crew of Meenu had caused quite a stir among the Humins of Nova Londinium. Leos had accepted his aid, but Hedjin could see it was a bitter pill for him to swallow – to be dependent for his people’s salvation on a Vrann – a member of a species held to be inferior. That was hard enough, humiliating in fact, but the final straw had come last night. Sophia had imbibed too much wine, and in a moment of intoxicated exuberance kisses Hedjin passionately when she mistakenly thought they were unobserved.
Someone had seen, had told her father. His love had been spirited away in the middle of the night and in the morning Leos, backed up by a hundred heavily armed guards, had ordered him to leave immediately. Hedjin well remembered his harsh words, the look of utter wrath carved in brutal lines upon his stern and unforgiving visage.
“No daughter of mine will consort with a dirty savage. I feel like killing you, but you saved my people. Be grateful I have shown mercy. You and your men will leave at once. You will never return. You will never see Sophia again. If you do I will personally see that you die a death so foul that even demons will shudder in revulsion. Now get out you filthy animal!”
Hedjin brooded. He was leader of the Meenu choosing to live among them, and the Meenu and the Vrann had formed an alliance with Muri’s approval. He’d raise an army, storm Nova Londinium and rescue Sophia, for he was sure she was being held against her will.
But in the process many of her people would be killed. Is that what Sophia would want? Would she love him for it? He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t. Also, the attack would undoubtedly start a war, and the bloody history of the past would be repeated, which would setback even further his hopes of establishing peace between the Humin and his people which, despite his loss he was still determined to pursue, for Hedjin realized he would have to put aside his feelings for the greater good. It was a noble sentiment, but it didn’t make him feel any better in the slightest.
Weighed down by bitterness at fate’s unfairness he descended to his cabin and with a muttered oath angrily slammed the door behind him.
A voice spoke from the corner of the room: “I was wondering when you’d come below.”
Hedjin jerked his head around. Sophia sat smiling on a chair. In an instant he was across the room and swept her up in a passionate embrace...
“How did you get away?” he asked after a time as they lay together in his bunk.
“My father had me surrounded by guards, but I still had access to my loyal handmaidens. I exchanged clothes with one and veiled, as is the custom when going to the chapel, was able to escape undetected. I slipped aboard the unguarded land-ship for I knew my father would order you to leave in the morning, and give you this craft as it would be the quickest means of getting you out of Nova Londinium and away from me.”
“Won’t he be furious at your coming with me?”
“Let him,” she replied. “I am no longer a child but a woman, and capable of making my own decisions. I have left a letter saying this and more. Father is very angry, upset and confused. He will no doubt disown me, but he is sensible enough not to start a war over my elopement.”
The young Vrann started at her words. For a parent to disown their child, no matter what the circumstances, was unthinkable in his culture - Muri, although not approving of his son’s relationship with Sophia had nonetheless diplomatically accepted it, and would never disavow him for his choice. Worry came upon Hedjin – that their love had torn apart Sophia’s family.
“Do not be concerned,” she assured him, guessing his apprehension. “My father and I have always had a difficult relationship. He is a domineering man, and I am strong willed. We are usually in conflict over something. It is sad, but our estrangement was inevitable. We have a saying – the wind shouldn’t feel guilt if it fells a rotten tree.”
She grinned. “But enough talk. We have been apart too long, having endured separate rooms to hide our love from my people - something I won’t have to do among the Meenu. Now, show me again how vigorous you can be.”
And he did with considerable enthusiasm.
THE END