Saligia
by
G.A. Whitfield
Saligia
Copyright © 2011 by G. A. Whitfield
Disclaimer:
This work is 100% fiction. All scenes and events within these pages have been an invention of the author's imagination, and to his knowledge never occurred in reality. Any resemblance to the reader's own experiences is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Author’s Note
SALIGIA, as a concept, was born thanks to the many questions I received on the background of the Urionverse. In particular from those who had originally read and enjoyed Urion’s Belt, and then followed my journey along the Sudden Dearth timeline.
Characters, in particular the Tauran nation, left a rather large number of unanswered questions with respect to both description and motivation. Demons had to have had a history, as did their internecine warfare. So, SALIGIA as an exercise began. The name of the novella is a mnemonic used in Medieval Times to help remember the names of The Seven Deadly Sins. I used each of these sins in one of seven short stories, attempting to illustrate something of the Tauran Demon’s nature, as well as the ease at which humans could be swayed from the right path.
One character, Geriond Devane, is the glue which binds all of the stories together, and also helps to link to future events such as those portrayed in Urion’s Belt. Each of the stories was written as a stand-alone episode, whose relationship can be followed through Geriond’s involvement.
I hope you enjoy these tales and for those of you more involved in the Urionverse itself, hope that this explains everything just a little bit more.
Gerard A. Whitfield
June 2011
(Find out more by visiting www.sudderndearth.blogspot.com)
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One – Superbia
Chapter Two – Avaritia
Chapter Three – Luxuria
Chapter Four – Invidia
Chapter Five – Gula
Interlude
Chapter Six – Ira
Chapter Seven - Acedia
Finale
Saligia
Prologue
War rages, horrid war
Even in our bones; our double nature sounds
With armèd discord.
C.S.Lewis
Balance is required in all things. From his first conscious thought, The Great One strove for it. He was a positive force, neither light nor dark, order or chaos and the Universe diligently worked to create a force in opposition to him. The concept of Good and Evil was invented by man, the Church bestowing upon him that of Light and Goodness. The Tauran Demons whose existence was in counterpoint to his own, were quickly identified by pious and holy men as wrong, evil and needful of extermination.
This morality made The Great One smile. He was egocentric, wilful and prone to follow his own whims. As time passed, the Taurans became cast in the Church’s image of them, surpassing in excess and cruelty their perceived role. War raged between the Church and the Taurans, with neither side willing to live in harmony. Even a Supreme Being tires of such behaviour and The Great One took himself apart from man.
It was the need for balance which called him from his contemplations. The Church became corrupted from staring too closely at the monsters, taking on some of their attributes as a justification of their expansionism. The Taurans found their holy counterparts a barrier to full enjoyment and so all descended on Pyrion, a non-descript planet whose only redeeming feature was its location; a middle-ground with easy access for both forces. This would be the deciding battle, and The Great One was determined that he would force these warring factions into his chosen path. They would succumb or die.
Zone of Conflict
Pyrion
A cold wind whipped around his head, spraying long strands of hair randomnly into the air, then crashing them against the crags of his face. He stood tall, high on the mountain-side, his keen vision dissecting the ant-like remains of the battle. There was a decision to take, something important, or so he thought, but his mind was overwhelmed by the raucous emotions spilled here today.
Banners still fluttered, somewhat listlessly, from both sides of the conflict, their emblazoned designs very different. The underlying drive for their existence, was though, the same. Neither would give quarter, their ultimate and final aim resolutely being the utter destruction of the other.
More would come, even now he felt the fabric of space strain with their imminent arrival, a never-ending birthing process. He would have to watch this occur, time after time, unless he did something. Yes, that was it; make a decision. One of these two factions would need to survive, if only for life to continue. However, they would be weighed, compared and judged, those found wanting discarded, never to walk the rich pathways of existence again.
*
Bodies spawled where they had fallen, armour and clothing rent and torn. Mis-matched limbs thrust aimlessly from the unnatural pile of flesh, hands grasping at the sky in a final defiant gesture. Helmets, banners and weapons lay discarded amongst the viscous and bilious remains, globules of flesh dripping slowly downwards.
Still there was life here, the moans of the wounded and dying rose pitifully and were accompanied by the occasional flat crack of a blessed release. Priests wailed as they moved amongst their fallen flock, their words meant to enfold penitents in a forgiving embrace. More often than not, they received curses rather than thanks, as they passed sentence on those worth the effort of saving.
Troopers marched by the clergy’s sides, protecting them and carrying out their orders. There was no clemency from their swift justice and many remained silent, preferring to make their own peace, before passing on.
The grumbling roar of engines added to the mixture of noises, drowning out cries of supplication and crushing what little hope was left. Wheeled and tracked vehicles crunched and squelched their way across the battle field, oblivious to friend or foe, living or dead. They had their orders, re-supply and preparation for the next offensive came first, not the injured.
Where they ground a path, troops now followed, faces steadfastly fixed on the back of the path-breaking machinary. Time to mourn was a luxury that they could ill afford, tomorrow would be their day to fight and perhaps die, but that was not today. They must reach their pre-appointed meeting place, reinforce their comrades and bolster their hearts and minds for the struggle to come. There was no other way, their enemies would not, could not win.
Across the field of bodies another snake-like column mirrored their movements. Vehicles painted garishly and banners waving, it streamed into and through the still-warm carnage, stopping only as if by agreement at the previous day’s lines. Angry faces stared into crazed eyes, shouts and screams rang out and weapons were waved and brandished in the air. Yet, as if by unspoken agreement, they held their lines, the vast majority simply content to wait, as campfires were lit and hastily scratched dug-outs filled with ragged bed-rolls.
*
High on the hill, his vigil continued, fixing itself on individuals within the amassing armies on both sides of the divide. These men and women, would be those who would perhaps have decided tomorrow’s battle, but now they would be tested this night. The choice of Champions would be his, criteria already timeless and known. They would need to live up to these criteria, embody that which he searched for, if they were to succeed.
Rifle fire split the relative quiet of the battle field, as patrols met and fought, the occasional crump of explosives denoted sporadic and half-hearted assaults. Raw emotions permeated outwards, identifying his targets and finally forcing him to move, as the sun slowly fell, bathing the tortured landscape with
a red infernal cast.
Smiling, he raised his arms and began to intone his spell, to draw together those varied strands of life he needed for his tapestry. Spinning, weaving he created his convoluted pattern, and as men and women fell into an exhausted sleep, his game began.
One by one, figures rose and moved mindlessly towards the hillside, each of them oblivious to the other and to their surroundings. No challenges were heard as his spell worked its strange magic, and his unwilling captives climbed the rocky ground. Stumbling, falling and rising once again, they answered his insistent call and their assignation with fate.
At last they were seated around him in a rough circle, the two sides neatly divided. Seven of them made up each half, their individuality now apparent. Clean faces, strong limbs and shining armour on one side, horror, pain and suffering on the other. He did not care who won, it was an academic excerise in fact, all he wanted was peace and quiet, in order to continue his spiritual journey. One side claimed to know of him, to share his journey. The other was more honest; cruelty, disdain and hatred were a coin he could accept. If he did this right, they might at least answer some of his questions, understand real good and evil.
A self-mocking grin crossed his face and he moved to the first he had picked, his fingers lightly caressing the man’s forehead and his breath whispering softly in his ear. Unseeing eyes opened and beads of sweat began to form and roll slowly down the man’s face…it had begun.
Chapter One
Superbia
'What kind of nonsense is this? Surely you must be ashamed, poor men, to challenge someone so famous as me with troops so tattered.
Aurelius Prudentius Clemens
“Who do they think they are? What divine right do they believe they have which convinces them that they can raise their arms against me?” roared Lucifer, as he stared across the battle field.
His Angels stood around him, haughty disdain plainly visible as they inspected the forces arrayed against them. Their disbelief bolstered by their skill and achievements, the wealth and power they wielded in order to hold dominion over this land.
And who were these worthless upstarts, how did they dare to challenge those within whose blood flowed the seed of immortality? Those who had given them freedom through their own struggle against vile forces. Now they came, these usurpers, carrying steel forged in unholy lands, weapons powered by heretical rituals and breathing a new and false religion across this earth.
No matter, they were as nothing, and would never be able to stand against the forces of the righteous.
*
Lucifer checked the state of his polished armour, he could almost see his face in the brilliant reflection from the coated metal. The huge stylised angel emblazoned in all its glory across his chest was something he had earned, and made sure that all were aware of. He had been the most faithful of the Great One’s servants, along with his men of course, but he was the leader. His men were but pale reflections, but they too, in their own way, carried the honour of their forces with them.
A sneer crossed Lucfier’s face as he glanced at the regiments of Church Guardsmen, waiting for their moment of fame, perhaps even sacrifice. Not something that Lucifer concerned himself with, the lifes of those lesser humans who lived and died in the Great One’s name.
Messengers arrived from General Command, but Lucifer waved them away, one of his subordinates taking the data sheet and dismissing the General’s Aide. What advice did Lucifer need from some juvenile General? He had lived centuries fighting against the Tauran hordes and knew exactly what to do.
The absolute truth of the matter, in Lucifer’s own eyes, was that he really did not need the rest of these imitation soldiers. He and his men would, as they had always done, carry the day. Gently, he brushed back his short blond hair, the bristled look being one he cultivated, and taking his helmet from one of his servants, donned it arrogantly.
*
Geriond tried once more to speak with Captain Lucifer, the General had been rather specific in his orders. He, Geriond, was not to leave until he had some form of formal acknowledgement from the overbearing Immortal Captain. It seemed as though the General was insisting upon this point, and Leftenant Geriond Devane, would complete his duty.
Tall for his age, Geriond nevertheless was dwarfed by the gigantic frames of the Immortals, and somewhat overawed by their exploits. Time and again they had broken the Tauran forces, on world after world and all in the Great One’s name. Although, the Leftenant had to admit that the manner in which they behaved did leave a lot to desire. Their self-glorification smacked more of the agrandisment of their own names, rather than His.
All that he could do was to try, and summoning what little courage he had left, he approached the Captain once more.
*
The Angels’ Captain watched the annoying Aide approach again and his famous temper got the better of him. Without waiting for any comment, he strode forward, grasping the front of Geriond’s tunic and lifting him bodily from the floor. He shook him like a dog does a rat, snarling incoherently with his all-consuming rage.
“Who…do…you…think…you…are?” he spat, affronted at the temerity of the young Leftenant. With a heave, he bounced him off a nearby rock and sent Geriond crashing to the floor. The Leftenant rose again, opening his mouth to speak and one of Lucifer’s men back-handed him, smashing his teeth in a bright spray of blood and sending the Leftenant into a less than graceful unconsciousness.
Lucifer beckoned forward the Immortal holding the Aide’s data sheet, “Give me that!” he snapped, holding it between thumb and forefinger, before dropping it disdainfully to the floor. His armoured foot rose and slammed down on the inoffensive item, once, twice and then it was no more.
With a roar of laughter, Lucifer led his men away; they would prepare their rituals for the annointing and blessing of their armour and weapons by their tame priest. They had very quickly forgotten about the half-conscious Leftenant, who even now was trying to drag himself up, his all-important message driving him on.
*
A pair of Church Guardsmen had helped Geriond to his feet and agreed, after his pleading, to half-carry him to the front of the Angels lines. Now he stood, leaning heavily against one of them, and did his best to straighten his dirtied and bloodied uniform. As Lucifer exited his command tent and began to march purposefully forward, his gaggle of excited men following, Geriond pushed himself away from his crutch and spoke.
“Sir!” he shouted in his best voice, the sound not really doing much more than make the Immortals laugh, the words slurred by his swollen jaw.
“Now what?” asked Lucifer, restraining one of his men and condescendingly allowing Geriond to speak.
“I brought you a data sheet from the General, Sir,” continued the Leftenant pleadingly, “and he asked me to make sure that you had read and understood its contents, Sir!”
“What General is this that has arrived from some God-foresaken mudball and presumes to tell us what to do?” Lucifer half-turned, basking in his men’s adulation.
“But, Sir!” gasped Geriond, only barely keeping upright, as he waved away the Guardsmen’s proferred help.
“Enough!” spat Lucifer, continuing forward and knocking the Leftenant to the floor, “We do not need advice, we have a proud tradition and have never lost. Today will not be the day that changes, belive me!”
“The General insisted...” Geriond’s words were cut short by Lucifer’s boot connecting with his stomach, his retching causing the Angels to smirk at his weakness. None of them would have succumbed so easily, they were divinely blessed with enhanced constitutions.
A clawing hand was all that the Leftenant could manage, his gasping for air not allowing him the possibility of speech. Vainly he wheezed his pleas, but they were ignored as Lucifer signalled his men to mount up. Their APC’s roared into life, and one by one, the huge men leaped into their pre-ordained places, grinning at the devastation they were about to wreak.
*
There was nothing more he could do and the Leftenant cursed them, as they powered away. Fumes belching behind their rides, pennants fluttering madly, and pistol rounds exploding as they fired haphazardly into the air. They did not need to hide, did not the world, the whole galaxy, not know who they were? Enemies trembled at the mere sound of their name, many giving up even before the fight had started.
Not today, thought Geriond, they were about to face an enemy who cared little for their name nor tradition and would blindly keep fighting no matter what the Angels threw at it.
Perhaps he would get one more chance, thought the young Leftenant, waving feebly at the waiting Guardsmen. They half-bundled him into an air car and so his wild ride began.
*
Lucifer crowed with delight as he fired the heavy, pintle-mounted auto cannon; he never missed. With this he could start to show his enemies their mistake long before he entered into hand-to-hand combat. He raised his fist skyward, pumping it vigorously as two shuttles roared overhead. They would drop their charges behind the enemy front lines, an honour for those chosen and a proud tradition. They blooded their younger warriors that way; it was where they learned their invulnerability.
The vehicle swerved under him suddenly and he hammered his fist down on the cabin roof. A grunt of apology was forthcoming, it did not do to show their foes that they were fallible.
Without warning a round pinged off his armour, from behind! Turning, he saw the crazed visage of the General’s Aide, waving a puny pistol in the air. Lucifer grunted as he saw the soldier by the Leftenant’s side raise his rifle, a strange bulbous contraption underneath it.
Swinging the cannon round, he squeezed off two rapid shots, one smashing into the cabin and the other ripping the side of the vehicle away, causing it to tumble end-over-end. The rag-doll figure of the Leftenant flopped within its harness and Lucifer smiled smugly to himself, just as the coloured flare fired by the soldier burst open.
Shrugging, Lucifer faced forward once more, whoever would use a signal rocket to fire on an Immortal. Still shaking his head at the vagaries of the lower orders, he banged on the cabin once more urging his driver on.
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