To Tame the Sentry Being
Michael Georgiou
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by
The Book Guild Ltd
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Copyright © 2018 Michael Georgiou
The right of Michael Georgiou to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.
ISBN 9781912881123
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Dedicated to Cath, Joan and Jim
Contents
Prologue
1 Sy and Ed
2 A Monster’s Hate
3 Phantom in the Library
4 The Placid Forest
5 Ira
6 Vows of Moonlight
7 Suns of a New Age
8 Traditions of the Young
9 Spectre of God
10 Human
11 Oedipia’s Temporal
12 The Feast of Zelta
13 Dissonance in the Underground
14 The Forlorn Angel
15 Temple of Yashin
16 The Endless Dreams
17 Asterleigh’s Burning Star
18 Stars of Dusk
19 Brother
20 Dawn
21 Transcendence
22 Sechen’s Passing
23 Medzu
Epilogue
Preview
Prologue
Encounter
New Year’s Eve
The fiery firmament above them bled flush crimson, the wind howled while rain surged through the stone-cobbled streets; it was the time of the Holy Star of Sechen. The red eclipse is truly upon us – has it already been a year since the last one? Bowenn ruminated as he picked up his eternally loyal blade.
“Time flies when death looms, the days grow shorter and the whole universe moves in a plot against you.” He recalled his father telling him these words many years ago. Bowenn chuckled to himself; the old man had been in so many battles he must have thought every day was going to be his last. It was not the battlefield that took his father in the end but a small infection he got in his finger, while carving the chair where he would later be found, cold and stiff. Sad way to go, Bowenn reminisced, not proper for such a renowned warrior; he should have died on the battlefield, sword in hand, cutting down as many Alpelite savages as humanly possible.
In many ways, he had already overshadowed the accomplishments of his ancestor; his own valour had seen him rise through the ranks to become General of the Southwestern Border. He had not seen as many full-scale battles, and none as legendary as the defence of Verkins River, but had fought in more skirmishes than he would dare count. However, these were mostly just Alpelite raiding parties crossing the border, hacking down all human life having the misfortune to encounter them. He scoffed. They’re like bacteria… and bacteria must be wiped out before they fester.
Placing on his helmet from the side of his bed, Bowenn eyed his reflection; this armour gave him a sense of pride, while wearing it he was more than just a wrinkled old man from the deprived town of Lowton. He was a sword, a human weapon defending his species against all its would-be predators. After giving his bushy moustache a final groom, he placed his steel into its sheath and walked downstairs.
“I’m leaving,” he called to his wife.
“Why?” she responded, appearing to him from the dining room. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Sorry, Verena, but duty calls.” He could see the faces of his children peering around the side of the door. They had his blue eyes, the colour of stormy waves, like his mother’s before him.
“On the night of the eclipse? What kind of duty is it?”
“Intel’s come in; a raiding party apparently, shouldn’t be more than ten or so. I’m going to headquarters to gather a repelling force.”
Drip. Drip. The harsh downpour from the increasingly ferocious storm could be heard slamming against his house like the sound of distant drums.
They always find ways of making it past the border, but for what reason? Why cross the border just to meet an opposing force and be killed? Moreover, why tonight of all nights? He quickly snapped out of this line of thought. Useless pondering it, we will never understand their way of thinking – they’re not even human.
She smiled at him, but he could not muster one back. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he could not do that either. Simply turning his back on her and his children, he exited the building into the deluge and beheld the inflamed sky. The rain spewed and thunder roared as a sinking, uneasy feeling ran up his spine. Is this finally the night? Walking around to the stable, he stared at the house he had lived in for over twenty years. The house where he had first made love and later raised his children, but which had never felt like home. At least, never as much as the battlefield. Mounting his horse, Bowenn rode towards the only subject he ever truly understood.
As he rode through the stony streets of Lowton, he heard laughter and music coming from the taverns he passed. Lowton, like most other towns subsidiary to the capital, was rundown and riddled with poverty. Bowenn and his family had to deal with myriad homeless while travelling through the marketplaces. This night, be that as it may, was a time of celebration for the coming of New Year, the time when the golden Star of Sechen passes the blue moon Vurtus to illuminate a red glow throughout the sky for one full angelic night. Bowenn remembered his own childhood and how his mother always used to cry on this night over how his father, away on military campaigns in Alpelite lands, was never there to celebrate with them.
He continued pressing forward through the streets. “Drink with us, General!” a woman shouted, opening one of the tavern windows. He ignored her and carried on; he did not trust the young. The times were changing, a new age of pacifism was seeping through the youth of his country; many were becoming sympathetic to the Alpelite cause. There had long been claims that the human ancestors had done the Alpelites wrong by unlawfully taking their land. Myths and legends had always told the tale of how human life had not even originated from this planet; how, many years ago, human beings appeared seeking refuge, travelling from a dying star in a distant part of the cosmos.
Ridiculous, Bowenn thought, ridiculous stories orchestrated to brainwash and gain support for the enemy cause. Old tales of space travel. He laughed aloud to himself. There is nothing out there in the stars – nothing.
Still, the times were changing. In the days his father’s squadron rode to war, the whole town of Lowton would gather to wave, cheer and declare how they were all in thoughts and prayers – and when they returned, they were treated as heroes. Yes, the times were indeed changing, there was no such adoration for the modern-day soldier.
“An old man from the wrong generation, too stuck in
the traditions of the past.” The words his wife uttered whenever these frustrations rang through his head. Maybe you are right, he thought, but it is too late to change. His sword, the badges he had earned for his valour on the battlefield, they were what was important, not the adoration of the townsfolk who were too cowardly to fight for themselves. See what their pacifism brings them if a bloodthirsty Alpelite horde breaks through the border. He would continue to fight, kill and even die for them, despite their lack of gratitude.
Headquarters consisted of one room with different sections for weapons, training, eating and nursing beds for the injured; it even had an inside stable for the horses. On this night the hall was almost completely empty, except for a group of men together on wooden tables to one end. After he dismounted from his horse, one of the men noticed him, quickly whispered to his friends and in unison they stood up to face him. “General!”
Bowenn moved purposefully forwards, undeterred by the fact he was interrupting their feast. “What can you tell me of the Alpelites’ movements?”
“A mere raiding band, Sir. Southwestern Watch identified a boat moving in our direction. Chances are they mean to bypass our location and make it across Caledon Meadows.”
“What is your name, Private?”
“Rengard, Sir,” he replied, wiping his mouth before he answered; he was a young man, black-skinned and of stocky build. Bowenn speculated he could not be any older than seventeen.
He looked at the other faces; there were eleven in total. “And where, Private Rengard, is everyone? Where is Captain Oakghart or Captain Simms?”
“Captain Oakghart is on compassionate leave, Sir, while Captain Simms was ordered to take many of the privates to Asterleigh to await further orders from the Supreme Leader.”
This shocked Bowenn; how could he, as leading general of the Southwestern Border Blockade, not have been informed of this beforehand?
Rengard continued, “The word only came in an hour or so ago, Sir.”
Bowenn narrowed his brows. “But that cannot explain the lack of ready arms here, Private? Surely they haven’t all accompanied Captain Simms to the capital?”
“No, Sir, many are out celebrating the New Year.” Rengard coughed into his hand. “You see, we don’t normally get called into combat on the night of the eclipse.”
How could the capital have left us so short-handed? Even though he outranked Captain Simms, he could not call him back if it were a direct order from the Supreme Leader. What was happening in Asterleigh to leave the Southern border so undermanned? Well, he had a mission to carry out regardless. He studied each of the young men’s faces; none really resembled warriors, but if intel were correct, then they still outmanned the enemy. Plus, he was aching for combat. He could not lie; this was what he lived for. What he craved above all else. The sweet single rush of humanity. Spirit raised, he shouted to his men, “Gentlemen, gather your arms! We have Alpelites to kill!”
Conditions had worsened as the group travelled north into the vast empty fields of Caledon Meadows. His feet felt as if they were about ready to drop off from the damn cold as they journeyed through the open plains. There was no life out there, only grassy hills stretching for hundreds of miles; however, Bowenn had an intimation of where the raiders should be heading. The closest village on the outskirts was Hampshed to the northwest. Alpelite tracks were never too hard to spot, not for a seasoned professional such as himself. The Alpelites would also be on foot, as they must have used a small boat to bypass the border. The only difficulty was the cursed weather. The rain had become a complete storm, the wind had worsened, and the daylight had all but vanished. Lucky, he thought, to happen tonight of all nights. The eclipse was giving a dark red-tinted light to help them weave their way through the meadows. Beautiful really, he concluded, gazing towards the sky as the faint astral light of a shooting star pierced the black and red veil. It was indeed beautiful, despite the weather. He would normally be spending this night at home with Verena and their two children, staring through the window at the sky, telling them spine-tingling stories of warfare. He now could not wait for next year, so he may tell them the story of this night.
He struck up a conversation with what appeared to be the youngest of the group. “How old are you, boy?”
“Thirteen, Sir,” said the baby-faced lad.
“I saw my first combat at thirteen,” he boasted loudly, trying to be heard over the raging gust. “That sword,” Bowenn pointed towards the sheath strapped to the lad’s belt. “You know how to use it?”
“I think so, Sir.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Adnan, Sir.”
“Well, Adnan, were you born in Lowton?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This is your first mission?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And… how do you feel?”
Adnan did not reply; Bowenn was starting to speculate he would be having a better conversation if he were talking to a dead mule. After a moment, however, the lad did eventually perk up. “I feel scared, Sir.”
Bowenn stopped in his tracks. Something about the tone in which the boy had answered made him forget all previous warlike mannerisms; he was thirteen after all, only a few years older than his son. He mulled over this thought until a shout from one of the privates riding ahead interrupted him.
“Sir, we’ve found a body!”
What could only be described as a monster was lying face down in the muddy plain. Bowenn had encountered many Alpelites out on the field, but it never failed to shock him just how ugly the beasts were. Its three horizontal eyes and pig-like snout had an expression of stiffness and an almost-smile was upon its motionless face. Many of the younger members of the troop were looking upon the corpse with awe, as they gazed for the very first time upon the beasts the townsfolk used to sing songs of horror about. ‘The scourge of humanity’ they called them when Bowenn was a child. Well, that may be the case, but luckily for us this one’s dead. Bowenn dismounted and fell to his hands and knees to scan the body in more detail. There’s no wound left from either sword or arrow, so what killed it?
“It’s not unheard of for the Alpelites to kill each other while on these raids. Perhaps they had an argument, Sir?” said Rengard, observing the situation from horseback.
“If that were the case there would be an entry point of some kind, but there doesn’t appear to be any sign of a struggle.”
“Perhaps a sickness killed it, Sir?”
Perhaps, Bowenn thought, but this was not the way the Alpelites treated their dead. They followed a strict religious ritual for commemoration, even when they butchered one another. They would not just leave it out here in the open. He was still surveying the body when a different voice caught his attention.
“Sir, there’s another one…”
Two? This was beginning to make the uneasy feeling in the pit of Bowenn’s stomach grow. Had someone already come to intercept the raiders? Bowenn and the remaining troops made their way to the private crouching over the second body. It’s the same, Bowenn deliberated after another inspection. No sign of an entry point, with the same facial stiffness and an almost-smile across the face.
Bowenn lifted his sword to them all. “Continue forwards. With any luck, this trail will lead us to the remaining Alpelites and they can join their brothers in the next world!”
The crimson sky was darkening as it fell later into the night. In a couple of hours, the twin suns of the east would rise and the first day of the New Year would officially begin. He was starting to wish he had stayed at home, as the gale once again picked up strength. After a hundred yards, they came upon a third body, and a fourth fifty yards after that, then a fifth. Eventually, they reached a chasm at the bottom of an enormous slope – the horses became visibly nervous, neighing loudly and refusing to exert themselves beyond the hilltop.
“Leave them here!” Bowen
n roared as the sound of thunder cracked the sky, his curiosity at an all-time high, his usually ever-rational mind leaving him. The only course left was to follow the trail of bodies and find its source. He lost one of his boots in the mud and perhaps his mind along with it. It had become so dark he could not have seen another body on the ground even if that were where his mind was focussed; his eyes were fixed up towards the top of the hill and the last remnants of the once bright light of the eclipse. He did not feel anything at this time, no fear nor excitement; it was as if some external force was drawing him onwards. Drip. Drip. His mind was coming in and out of consciousness, like awakening from a deep sleep, one that had lasted his entire life. His ears had all but burst and yet he persevered on, as though it was his intrinsic need to do so. He made out a faint voice whispering, soft and soothingly, like a lullaby sung from some place and time long forgotten in his past. The sweet sounds filled his mind, compelling his body to grow numb. What is this feeling that has overcome me? Am I dreaming? Drip. I must be dreaming, yes of course that’s it. Oh, Verena, I know I’m there lying beside you. Shake me. Pull me out from this nightmare. Before I become forever lost in it. Mother… I can hear you singing… like you did all those years ago… I can see the light… I can’t stop myself…
A white light was illuminating the darkness in the open plains an extra eighty or so yards before them. So astral and captivating as if it were emitting from the stars themselves. Drawn to it like moths to the flame, Bowenn and company maintained their death march. Moving upon the white luminous source he could distinguish a figure surrounded by the celestial glow. He could not make out any facial appearance; all he could see was white and blinding.
“To pass between the black void. To reconfigure the fragments and matter. To separate the spirit from its transient shell. To tame the sentry being…” The rumbling storm was deafening but Bowenn and the others could hear these words spoken as clear as day. As they approached, the figure sensed their presence; it turned and Bowenn could determine the outlines of its face. It appeared human enough, with a bald head and face covered in strange markings. The one aspect, however, which did not seem human were the eyes – two black sunken eyes that appeared to have no light within them. Its skin was a shade of colour Bowenn had never seen before, a type of light grey azure tone with red veins visible on the outside, curling, twisting and forming patterns. The Entity’s whole body, to Bowenn’s absolute astonishment, was illuminating, pulsing through different stages of brightness.
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