Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera

by Steven J Shelley

  She pushed on into marshy terrain, her boots squelching in the mud. Before she knew it she was wading through a clear pool she hadn’t seen earlier. Must be the fens Mischa mentioned earlier.

  Mindful of snakes, she backed out slowly and skirted the water, which was pooled into a string of deep fens. Along the edge of the water she saw a reptile basking on a rock and considered attacking it with her combat knife. The thing was certainly quite large, but didn’t seem epic enough to warrant the prestige attached to a Clan Trial, so she moved on.

  Keen to reach higher, drier ground, she scrambled up a slope and into another valley. This one ended at a ridge line to the southwest. Fusar pressed forward with enthusiasm, marking the loose, shattered rock and wondering if this valley had once been a glacier.

  At the top of the ridge Fusar sat on a rock and drank deeply from her canteen. She was drenched in sweat - the humidity was extreme. The view from the ridge was spectacular. A wide plain spread to the south. The immediate terrain was rocky and severe, but it graduated to mossy fens and, on the horizon, a ghostly forest of white-leafed shrubs.

  Fusar saw plenty of small mammals through her binoculars but nothing in the way of larger predators. After spooning a few mouthfuls of semela, she carefully climbed down to the flat plain. She’d barely covered thirty yards when she heard a low growl from behind a mound of rocks to her right. Her pulse hammering in her ears, she backed up the slope to get a better view.

  There was a flurry of movement down there - something big. A golden beast moved into the open. A lion-sized creature with a furry mane and a pig-like face. A female manticore. Her body rippled with powerful musculature and her tail ended in a barbed stinger. At that moment the beast was playing with a small mammal it had just killed.

  Fusar’s blood ran cold just looking at the thing - how in seven hells was she expected to bring that down? Her tools seemed insipid and inadequate against such a magnificent beast. Sure, she could lay bait, but where would she hide? And what would she do next? She needed poison, not food. She didn’t have the resources to come up with a workable plan.

  Hunters undertaking a Clan Trial could take days to complete their quests. She pictured large, weathered Jaj hunters stripping saplings and erecting elaborate palisades and traps. She didn’t have the time or the inclination for that … or did she? Perhaps if she made it to those distant shrubs she might at least have raw materials to work with. That, and fire. A powerful elemental force if harnessed correctly.

  Steeling herself, Fusar made her way down to the plain, careful not to arouse the manticore’s attention. The beast seemed focused on its quarry and didn’t notice her passing. She pressed on over the plain, noting the subtle reflectance of light that represented hidden bogs. She made it to the pale shrubs in just under twenty minutes. By this stage it was around mid-morning and the humidity was sapping.

  A hearty growl echoed across the flat terrain. Fusar turned, expecting to the see the manticore attacking another small mammal. No such luck. The beast was bounding across the plain. Toward her. It had seen her from a distance and correctly identified an easy meal.

  Almost frozen with fear, Fusar pushed through the waist high shrubs. The trunks were reasonably woody and she tripped more than once, but she was able to penetrate the stand. When she fell a third time she didn’t bother rising again, instead crawling through what she hoped was life-saving cover.

  The manticore roared again as it burst into the shrubs. Fusar froze, not moving a muscle. She could hear the beast padding through the undergrowth ten yards to her right. Surely such a finely tuned killer would smell her? It didn’t take long. The manticore knew Fusar was still somewhere in the shrubbery. In desperation she removed her gear frame and pulled her jacket over her head. She hadn’t bothered putting on anything underneath due to the humidity.

  Retrieving the bait cannister, she squeezed out a finger of sugar gel and began rubbing herself all over. Some idle part of her brain noted the eroticism of the act, but she was simply intent on becoming an unpalatable meal. Of course, it depended on how sensitive the manticore’s sense of smell was. And indeed whether it liked the taste of sugar.

  The beast approached through the shrubs with a restrained growl. It could see Fusar now, a brown leathery biped shining with sugar gel. The smell was intense, and she hadn’t exactly been sparing with it either. The manticore’s nostrils were working furiously as it came within five yards of the kneeling Jaj.

  In the end, key factors worked in her favor. First, there was the smell, which clearly confused the beast. Second, it didn’t seem comfortable in the shrubs. Third, it had just eaten at least one smaller mammal, and would not have been ravenous.

  Unwilling to fight for meat she no longer hungered for, the manticore backed away slowly and disappeared through the ghost shrubs. Fusar let her breath out, her face sinking into the soil. Crisis averted. But at the cost of her confidence.

  Mindful of the time, she forced herself to her feet, dressed, equipped the gear frame and continued south through the shrubbery. There was no sign of the manticore, but Fusar was reasonably sure her altered scent would hold, at least for a little while.

  She continued through the veldt until the ground became rocky. The valley narrowed here, splitting around a tor. The terrain beyond the tor was laced with dangerous-looking bogs. She sat back on her haunches and considered the tor. It was vaguely circular in shape, with a flat summit around twenty yards in diameter. A goat track spiraled its way to the top. Was it possible to lure a manticore up there?

  Fusar worked through a number of scenarios. She had limited resources and even less time. She half-expected a squadron of Imperial ships to appear in the sky at any moment.

  Driven by desperation, a basic plan formed in her mind. She set to work immediately, finding three heavy sticks she could fashion into spears. Thankfully the combat knife was battle sharp, and ate through the wood with ease. Within ten minutes she possessed three crude but functional spears. More than enough for what she had in mind.

  The next step was to lay a string of bait stations. She used the fresh meat on the presumption that manticores were strictly carnivorous. It made sense to fold each meat cube into a leaf package. The manticore would still smell it, but smaller animals would have a hard time stealing dinner. She half-buried each parcel as an extra layer of security.

  It was time to ascend the tor and wait. Fusar prowled the summit, familiarizing herself with every nook and cranny. After all, the compact space would soon be a battleground. Satisfied, she wedged her spears in between two rocks and settled down to wait.

  The morning wore on until the sun was directly above her. The scudding boom of a propulsion bulb soared overhead, but there was no visible ship. She scanned the smoke plume to the northwest, wondering if an Imperial cruiser had just landed at the estate. Time was running out.

  She almost missed the manticore’s approach. There was a growl at the base of the tor. Fusar was overwhelmed with nervous energy. She lifted one of the spears and stood at the far end of the tor. What had she been thinking, taking on a manticore on the edge of a deadly cliff face? Now that the beast’s arrival was imminent, the idea seemed absurd.

  And yet the beast that hove into view wasn’t a manticore at all. It was large and warty, with a horn between its beady eyes. Too big for the goat track, it had climbed the tor like it was a mere inconvenience. A pardernine. It bellowed so fiercely that Fusar suspected she’d be dead within seconds.

  The great beast hauled its full weight onto the summit and almost casually swiped at the cowering Jaj girl. Acting purely on instinct, Fusar rolled under the huge, rock-hard fist and toppled off the tor. The sensation of free-fall was inexpressibly horrid and seemed to last forever. She struck a surface that yielded to her body. Before she knew it she was completely submerged in a slick, viscous substance that irritated her eyes.

  A bog. She’d landed in one of the pearl bogs on the southern side of the tor. Her first task was to get to the sur
face, but that was easier said than done in the heavy liquid. Every effort to rise was counteracted by the weight of her gear frame. With little air left in her lungs, she shrugged off the frame, taking one of the knives from its sheath.

  Now she could rise slowly. She burst through the scummy surface and paddled toward the edge, the syrupy liquid threatening to drag her down a second time. Clutching at a handful of reeds, she pulled herself onto a spongy bank. She lay on her back for at least a minute, wondering where that pardernine had got to.

  Pearl bogs spread to all sides - Fusar was stuck in the middle of them. Perhaps that was why the pardernine hadn’t followed. The clinging muck was enough to cause even the largest animals trouble. What the hell was she going to do now? Her only tool was the skinning knife.

  Cursing her stupidity, she ventured through the ankle-deep water that connected the deeper bogs. Dragonflies and other curious insects darted in and out of view. A swarm of tiny black moths began nipping at her sweaty neck, feasting on the salt there. The only viable way was south, through the bogs. The way north was suicide, plain and simple. The pardernine had to be close.

  Lamenting the loss of her semela, Fusar began skirting the edges of the bogs. The clouds parted and the sun began burning the surfaces of brine.

  The fens were ripe with insects and a shimmering wail hung over the drowsy, languid scene. The occasional ‘pop’ suggested a creature had entered the water. Still recovering her breath, Fusar took a moment to admire the diamond patterning on the rock ten yards to the west. She stiffened as the diamonds slid to one side, in that slow, inexorable way that snakes had. It was a python and it was huge.

  It was also as wide as an elder tree. The reptile was disappearing into a silvery fen, showing Fusar how long it was. Twenty-four yards, maybe more. And where was it going? Overcome with a horrible sinking feeling, she backed away from the pool.

  Should she try swimming through the next bog? Logic suggested the fen snake would have no problem catching up with her. With only a skinning knife at her disposal, what choice did she have? Trembling with fear, she slid into the next fen, sending forth ripples of the mercury-like substance. She kicked hard, glad she’d ditched her gear frame.

  At the halfway mark she dared to believe the snake was merely looking to evade her, but then a splash preceded the arrival of a dark tube. The python closed in quickly. Neatly enclosed by the beast, Fusar lashed out with the skinning knife but was unable to penetrate its hard skin. She was dragged under the surface, firmly in thrall.

  Thankfully she’d had time to fill her lungs with air and she forced herself to relax. She considered the skinning knife in her free right hand. If she was going to die, she may as well do it drawing blood. As the python set about squeezing the life from her, she set the knife precisely on its scales and began peeling the skin away.

  The python was pushing air from her lungs as it increased its pressure. There wasn’t much time left now. Fusar noticed a flash of red in the corner of her vision and assumed it was her blood. More specks of red zoomed through the silvery water and dropped out of sight. The snake’s exposed flesh was covered in insects. The tiny critters were feeding on the soft flesh.

  Filled with renewed hope, she continued working the knife until her fingers were numb. She opened up an entire yard of skin, which attracted yet more insects to feed. By this stage her vision was darkening around the edges and she was dangerously light-headed. The snake’s grip slackened slightly, and continued to give way with each precious second that dripped by.

  Fusar tried to push to the surface but it was no use - the snake still weighed her down. She closed her eyes and found herself thinking of Jake. In her mind, he was pacing back and forth at the villa and snapping at Mandie irritably. Despite Fusar’s desperate situation, or perhaps because of it, the thought made her smile. But there was a sadness to it too, a feeling of being incredibly alone.

  When she opened her eyes again the snake was drifting to the bottom of the fen. Fusar drifted to the surface, too weak to propel herself. She broke through the water and thought she might just sink back down again, such was her exhaustion. Somehow she made it to the edge and rolled onto her back.

  Bad move. Water fountained through her windpipe, almost choking her. Her throat burning fiercely, she dry-retched for several seconds. Equilibrium finally recovered, she groaned when she realized she had to swim to the bottom of that pond to retrieve her trophy. With a skinning knife. Wasn’t gonna happen.

  67

  Trembling with muscle fatigue, Fusar located the pool where she’d jettisoned the gear frame. She dived into the water to retrieve the combat knife and trophy bag. On impulse she collected her semela container as well. The snake’s corpse was highly visible in the startlingly clear water profile.

  Again, the sheer size of the thing sent Fusar’s nerves into overdrive. This particular specimen was no longer dangerous but there were probably hundreds of these things in the fen system. She didn’t waste time sawing through the scales just below the bulbous head. The red insects, whatever they were, had made short work of the beast’s mid section. Millions of scales glittered in the sun-dappled water, creating a sparkling fairy land. Fusar grimly hauled the snake’s head to the surface. It was so heavy she painfully wrenched her neck and shoulder.

  Back on firm ground, Fusar shoved the head unceremoniously into the trophy bag and sat down to enjoy her last spoonfuls of semela. She wasn’t sure if she’d tasted anything so good. Sheathing the knife and collecting the bag, she backtracked to the ghost shrubs.

  Thankfully the pardernine had moved on. Crossing the flat, open plain was an exercise in nerve-shredding fear, but Fusar reached the far ridge without incident. It was early afternoon and the sun was out in force, which probably sent the manticores into the shade.

  Keeping the distant smoke plume in her field of view, Fusar trekked back up the post-glacial valley. From there it was a relatively simple matter of traversing the grassy plain southeast of Dunsilade. Once the hunter’s cabin was visible, a figure came bounding from the estate in her direction.

  It was Jake, looking for all the world like an excited puppy. He took a long look at the blood and dust-smeared hunter. Without saying a word, he took the trophy bag and led Fusar by the hand, eyes laden with emotion.

  Fusar sat at Wrex’s table while everyone admired the snake head. The old Jaj hunters were doing their best not to appear giddy, whilst Anjalan radiated pure joy and excitement.

  “Sendain Pools?” Wrex asked softly.

  Fusar nodded. “Manticore didn’t like me. Pardernine was too pushy.”

  Jake laughed and gave her a squeeze. Mandie massaged Fusar’s injured shoulder and seemed as happy as everyone else.

  “What’s the situation here?” Fusar asked.

  Jake’s smile collapsed a little.

  “The Imperials came for you,” he said. “After a thorough search, they took Barras instead.”

  Fusar’s eyes widened.

  “As insurance,” Mandie said. “If Jake wins the Trial he’ll be released.”

  Fusar’s joyous afterglow was tempered a little by the news.

  “Then let’s get started,” she said decisively. “Mischa, are you happy with the trophy?”

  The big Jaj snorted, his fingers dancing over his wrist pad.

  “One of the biggest I’ve seen,” he said. “Good to see the Pools are in pristine order.”

  He looked up at the others with a warm glow. “On behalf of Clan Franle, I wish you luck. This girl of unknown parentage, whom we all know simply as ‘Fusar’, has been recognized as a member of Clan Barras. From this day she will have access to the various privileges such a position confers.”

  “Not only that,” Jake said, “but one of the Senator’s last acts was a transfer of powers. Fusar, you’re clear to make your challenge.”

  The implications were not lost on Fusar. For all intents and purposes, she was now the leader of the Barras Clan. A Great Clan, about to launch a second
Imperial challenge. It was more than surreal; it was absurd.

  And yet the Senator had acted in a most pragmatic fashion. The Cava05 invasion was imminent. There was no telling how long any Clan would last if the status quo was maintained. At least this way the Jaj Empire had a fighting chance. Fusar had played her part. Now everything rested on Jake Le Sondre’s broad shoulders. If he felt the pressure, he didn’t show it. He was all smiles as Fusar gave everyone a rundown of her gritty trek across the Renquar Plains.

  “A hero,” he said when she’d finished. “You must’ve been watching me.”

  “In your dreams, Le Sondre,” Mandie said. “I see a lot of myself in Fusar.”

  Mischa bade them all farewell and disappeared into the shimmering green veldt.

  “I need to go too,” Fusar said to Wrex and Anjalan, embracing them both. “Thanks for everything. That semela was amazing.”

  “You’ve given us women far more than a day’s sustenance,” Anjalan said. “I can’t wait to head back to spread the news. Whether you like it or not, Fusar, the Jaj have a new legend.”

  There was much to do. But first, Fusar stood under a hot shower for fifteen minutes. The Senator’s stewards insisted she have access to Barras’s private quarters. They were certainly plush, but it didn’t feel right to take such liberties. Though he would never lead the Clan again, Yerto Barras was still alive and deserved respect for his sacrifice.

  Once Fusar was dressed and feeling Jaj again, she met Jake and Mandie in a planning room where refreshments were served. Many of Barras’s senior aides also attended.

  “Anyone here know the protocol of an official Imperial challenge?” Jake said.

  “I do,” a rotund aide replied. “Provide me with the principals and give me a date. I’ll transmit today.”

  “Sending now,” Jake said, typing into his wrist pad. “The date is tomorrow morning.”

  The aide raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting.