Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn (12 page)

His room swayed with the waves but he had long grown used to the tide. He remembered the stomach-rot of his first mission many years before and how long it took him to get his so-called sea legs. He hardly recognized his reflection anymore. More gray stubble seemed to sprout from his head each day. Every scar on his road map face was a reminder of his dedication as a soldier. If he was ever fortunate enough to retire, he wondered what his many wives would say about the missing chunk of his upper lip, bitten off during his last battle. Or his missing front teeth as a result of a war hammer to his face. Many years had passed since he’d last seen the wives and he wondered if they even still lived.

He sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest, remembering a time when his muscles were solid and tight, a time when the inked markings etched into his skin weren’t faded, their edges more defined. He let out his stomach with a disgusted sigh.

With a groan, he relieved himself into a series of tubes that ran into the sea. His urine dribbled out in weak, painful spurts and he gnashed his teeth together. Each time he thought he was finished, another trickle came and he feared he would never be done.

Since the rest of his command staff would be awake soon, he needed to hurry in order to finish his morning routine in peace. After a few painful moments of stretching, he started walking his morning laps around his elaborate room to loosen his bones.

Once finished with his exercise, he slipped a set of war fatigues over his sagging skin before wrapping a heavy cloth coat around his shoulders. With a deep breath, he pulled the door open.

An explosion of screeching machines pounded his ears as metal ground against metal. He exited his room to a small army of scurrying Tek warriors, all with their own set of working orders. He peered over the balcony. His men barked orders from below that blended together into incoherent babble while they slaved in a type of controlled chaos like a working ant hive. Thick black smoke billowed from long cylindrical stacks at the ship’s center, blocking out the suns and turning the day into night. He knew that the smoke would announce his pending arrival, but he also knew it would do his enemies little good.

His lead officer, General Rayles, rushed to his side, still tucking in his shirt.

“
Zaffka. Teok el Masika.
” he screamed over the racket.

“
Sholon par seefa,
” Zaffka answered.

“
Coshi arida sei bue Wastelands neconimi.
” We arrive at the so-called Wastelands soon.

“Very good. And resistance?”

“None, sir.”

He surveyed the fleet of massive ships that stretched as far as he could see. Two hundred thousand battle-hardened warriors were at his command, most of whom hadn’t seen their families since they were drafted as children.

Commander Zaffka grinned at the destitute along the shores. “
Peke som ke rasna.
” This shall be an easy landing.

“Most of them are, your excellence,” General Rayles replied, continuing to speak in their native language.

“Kill all who move,” Zaffka ordered.

“We always do.”

“Leave me be until we’ve secured our landing.”

“Of course, sir.”

General Zaffka returned to his chambers to make final adjustments to his war plan. He studied a hand-drawn map of the continent they approached. More than half of the land was covered with a single country labeled “EPERTASE” in large Tek symbols.

Two years of planning had made his strategy sound but he was a meticulous leader and as such ran through them one last time. First, make landfall in the Wastelands and set up camp. He was relieved that the emptiness of the Wastelands would allow him to, for the first time of his long campaign, launch his initial attack by land instead of by sea. He would take his time draining the entire western lands of the ground’s blood before moving east toward civilization. He was excited at the prospect of sending home boatloads of machine blood before initiating a single battle. His masters would be pleased. Maybe they’d finally let him retire.

He pointed his finger at the smaller country to Epertase’s northwest called Lithia and smiled. “You will be first,” he whispered.

Though he understood the cruelty he was about to distribute to the land’s inhabitants, once the violence began, he would have no remorse. This was his job, his people’s way of life, his destiny.

He studied his plans the rest of the day until a knock at his door announced his dinner. His servant brought in a feast of overcooked hog carcass and set it on his table. He devoured the swine with the same restraint he planned to show his newest foes – none. In hindsight, the pig turned out to be a mistake as terrible indigestion took hold, lasting most of the evening.

The massive warship belched and rumbled to a stop. Zaffka braced himself against the steel cabin wall. “Right on time,” he whispered to the hog skeleton setting on his table.

A glistening black suit of form-fitting armor hung in a display case on his wall and he made his way to it. He opened the case and dragged his finger along its arm, which bore steel cylinders extending from its elbows to its wrists. The armor’s solid black was only broken by two red, parallel stripes along the side of its neckpiece, indicating his rank. “Soon,” he whispered. Then he closed the case, lay in his bed and went to sleep.

When Zaffka awakened, he didn’t know how long he had slept, nor did he care. Refreshed and ready, he exited his chamber. Three of his top bodyguards awaited in full Tek armor. Their suits hissed air from vents along their necks with each movement.

It was the middle of the night. The racket of his workers had not subsided one bit.

“Ready, sir?” one of the armored soldiers yelled.

He nodded with a grunt. They followed him down a ladder and into his command vessel at the side of the ship while two other soldiers lowered his armor display case into his boat. The small motor whined as they bounced along the turbulent waves created by the army’s advance. Zaffka didn’t speak. His guards knew better than to speak, either.

As they approached the Wastelands, they saw the shores were alive with Tek commotion. Heavy mechanical digging machines as large as small castles worked at frantic paces. Massive ground movers carried sand from new holes to fresh mounds. His Teks were efficient and hard-working and he was proud.

He knew that within five moons, the first pits would be finished and the pumpers would be siphoning their treasure. Early tests of the soil showed plenty of black blood to fuel the rest of their invasion. He surveyed the horizon. Thousands of Tek bonfires littered the landscape as far as he could see.

Now was a good time to be a Tek. Now was a bad time to be anyone else.

General Rayles met Zaffka when he exited his vessel and spoke to him in their shared tongue. “Our spies were accurate. This land is indeed desolate. The Machine God has smiled upon us.”

“Do not let this emptiness mislead you. Epertase is reported to be powerful and we mustn’t take them lightly. Well,” he paused, “as powerful as any primitive country could be, I suppose.”

Rayles’ top lieutenant approached. “Sir, we found a few local men trying to flee. We were able to dispose of them. We think they were scouts.”

Zaffka answered, “Very good. Set up defensive parameters at once.”

“Of course, my liege.”

“And what of the water supply? Is the river called Danduke plentiful enough for our needs?”

“It is, sir. We will leave it dry when we are finished.”

“Perfect.”

Day and night, the rumble of machines relentlessly echoed in the air. Seemingly bottomless pits filled with thick, black fluid that replaced the desert land.

Zaffka would be amazed at the speed in which entire Tek cities were formed if he hadn’t witnessed it so many times before.

Several days passed. A Tek spy returned from his explorations. “Sir, the country called Lithia has begun movements to strengthen its western borders. It appears its scouts have seen us and prepare for war.”

“Let them prepare. We will have patience. We will advance on them soon enough.”

“Perfect, my liege.”

The Day of Matthew the Peaceful dawned a brisk morning, as was typical that time of year, though the cold wouldn’t likely slow the celebrations. The fervent citizens had already poured into the decorated Thasulan streets before the suns had even risen.

Princess Alina strolled through the streets as merchants prepared their temporary booths for the flood of shoppers. They gathered clothing, fresh food, trinkets, and about any other handmade novelty that could be imagined or sold, for today would be more prosperous than any other day of the year.

By mid-morning, a large crowd had formed in the field of Cecil Park, where Alina was headed. Soon, one of the town’s storytellers would tell the tale of Matthew and, like every year before, there was no way she was going to miss it.

Three members of the Elite guard escorted her to the front of the crowd. The citizens bowed and curtseyed as she passed them by, all with warm wishes. The gray-haired storyteller was at the front, appearing to await her arrival. He lowered his head and greeted her with a grin. He had a few more wrinkles on his face than last she saw him and his teeth were stained a brighter yellow than she remembered but as long as he could still weave his special tale, she would enjoy. She smiled with a touch of tardy-embarrassment before plopping down in the grass with all of the children.

The story was the same every year, but Alina liked this storyteller best. Maybe because of the inflections in his voice when he became excited, or the way he paused for dramatic effect right before the story grabbed hold. She couldn’t quite say, but whatever the reason, she was excited to hear.

“Are you ready, Princess?” the teller asked.

“Whenever you are, good weaver of tales,” she answered, never losing her smile.

He began as he always had, with his voice deep and crackly. “It was a time of great turmoil across our vast country of Epertase. The Light burned deep within the powerful King Thadius, passed down from his mother, and her father before her. The Light that we speak of today was the very Light that burns deep within King Elijah’s soul and lays dormant in our beautiful Princess until her time comes to lead us.”

As with each time before, Alina couldn’t hide her grin and blushing cheeks. The crowd, mostly the children, giggled while pointing at her.

The gray-bearded narrator continued, his voice more gentle and inviting. “This tale begins at night, a very special night nearly one thousand years ago. The kingdom was aflutter with anticipation of the birth of Thadius’ first child and with that child, the possible heir to his light.

“The best doctors in the land gathered in the castle infirmary as the Queen struggled and strained. Historians believe that the doctors must have known something was wrong, though by all accounts, the King was never told.”

The teller scanned the children with squinted eyes. They stared back with mouths open and eyes as wide as gold coins.

“From inside Thadius’ soul, The Light watched his son, Prince Matthew, draw his first breath free of his mother’s womb. Then The Light watched in terror as the joy of Matthew’s first breath was eclipsed by the sorrow of the Queen’s last. Some say at that moment The Light saw a change inside of Thadius’ heart. Others believed his heart had always been black. But one thing was known. That night, when the sky filled with white-brightness, and Matthew inherited The Light that burned inside his father, Thadius began his journey to insanity.”

The children, and some of the adults, held their breath. The teller stoked their anticipation with a pause as he sipped from his mug. Alina often wondered what filled his mug and secretly hoped it was water, though she imagined it was ale.

The teller licked his chapped lips and continued. “Thadius stared at his helpless son cradled in his arms. Over the years, whispers emerged throughout the kingdom that he contemplated the murder of his own child, but no one could ever know for sure.

“The doctors watched with nervous stares.

“One of the nurses sobbed and hid her face in her hands.

“Thadius scowled at each person in the room. For the first and only time in his life, the people saw a tear fall from his eyes.

“The doctors watched and waited for what seemed like lifetimes.

“Thadius lowered his son to the cold, hard floor, turned and left him at the mercy of the gods. Perhaps he spared Matthew’s life out of love but most educated men doubt such. More likely, Matthew was spared by Thadius’ fear of losing The Light, and with it his people forever.

“While Matthew was an infant, Thadius sought every skilled wizard and witch of the land in an attempt to reclaim that which he believed was still his. He sought to recover the dormant Light so he could pass it to one he felt more worthy.”

The teller rose from his stool and paced along the front row of children. He leaned toward them while stroking his beard. They cowered from his ghoulish stare. He slowed his speech for menacing effect. “When those wizards failed to return him the dormant Light, he took their heads!” The teller dragged his thumb along his neck. Some of the smaller children hid behind Alina. She giggled and assured them all was fine.