EMPIRE OF THE GREEN SUN
BY
GEORGE H.Y.WATSON
Copyright 2016 by George H. Y. Watson.
Amazon Edition.
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Cover Design by G.Watson.
Cover Illustration 'Beta Lyrae' by Das Wortegeward, Pixabay.
CONTENTS
THE SILVER SHIP
THE OVERSEER
THE OWC’s RETURN
KROMA
ONLY A MAN
ABOUT GEORGE H.Y. WATSON
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
There exist no definitive records pertaining to the race called the Krells, nor indeed to the location of their home planet Krella Prime.
All the information that we, the Trills of the Epsilon Gas Worlds, possess comes from a few tattered copies of something called ‘The Encyclopaedia Krellania’ found amongst the ancient ruins on an insignificant planet at the end of the third spiral arm.
After much deliberation over the strange alien concepts therein, I have managed to glean the following segments of information from those ancient tomes so that you may be informed and entertained as you float amongst the methane clouds of Home Planet.
Yours truly,
Scribe Dekker 3345.
THE SILVER SHIP
In The Dream he had looked down upon the Plain of Krella and beheld The Silver Ship, a thing of such great beauty that it took his breath away. Made of a strange silvery metal it was surely a new creation of the Makers that the Church despised so much! The Ship had four great wings that held up its pointed body into the green sky and he had loved the machine more than he had loved anything in his life, but didn't understand why.
The nearby city was dark and devoid of any signs of life except the lights blazing from the Cathedral of the Church of the Everlasting Universe. Suddenly, he could discern movement in the dark streets and a dark tide of black-robed creatures flowed onto the plain towards The Silver Ship. Soon he could hear their ignorant fundamentalist screaming and see the steel bars and torches they carried. Quickly the craft was surrounded and fires lit whilst hundreds of the creatures did what damage they could with the primitive weapons they had brought.
A cheer arose as one of the beautiful wings crumpled and the Spaceship began to topple. The black tide began to recede but not quickly enough. The silver body burst when it struck the ground and liquid fire leapt amongst the dark creatures burning many. Others managed to escape screaming back into the gloom laden city where the young civilisation would now be stillborn having lost its beautiful silver future.
#
Young Buntar, seventeen years of age and once a foundling at the doors of the Cathedral of The Church of the Everlasting Universe, woke up in the Helpers Dormitory, drenched in sweat and trembling when The Dream had reached its awful conclusion.
The Dream came now every night to haunt him as he recovered from the beating that the Deacons had given him three weeks ago.
Faintly in the distance, he could hear the kitchen Almsman limping along the cold passageways towards him calling other helpers to work. Eventually the old man would pass nearby and Buntar would follow the long line of other Helpers down into the depths of the enormous stone building that comprised the Cathedral Barracks, then into the kitchens where he would begin his day of toil for His Esteemed Yellowness, The High Deacon.
#
When Buntar entered the kitchens the Chief Cook and Under Cooks were already hard at work and had the large cooking pots filled with slowly bubbling porridges of many colours and types. Nearby were stacks of bowls ready for Buntar and the others to carry out to the hundreds of Acolytes of the Church. The table-hands were the lowest of the low in the hierarchy of the Church and the Chief Cook Algar was quick to abuse them, "Buntar, you lazy green-skinned ork! Move yer backside an' start sloppin!"
Buntar sighed, but not too loudly. Algar was also quick with his fists as were all the cooks. Bowls were 'slopped' meaning they were filled and when a tray full of bowls was ready, Algar screamed at Buntar again, "Get shiftin', Greenie!"
#
Buntar and the other Helpers worked their way by the side of the long tables where several hundred Acolytes sat and chattered waiting for their breakfast. Over the last few years their numbers had soared as the Church insinuated itself into the lives of the populace who in turn were obliged to give alms to support these non-productive leeches. At least that was the way Buntar saw it. He had listened to enough of them over the years and he had come to despise them and all their doings; they were nothing but charlatans and this 'Church of the Everlasting Universe' was nothing but a device to enrich His Esteemed Yellowness the High Deacon! As he put the bowls down in front of the Acolytes, some sniggered and made fun of his green skin.
"Ignorant," He thought, "all of them."
The High Deacon would take his place in a few moments to partake of the porridge and pretend he was living the life of abstinence with his underlings.
"Another lie," thought Buntar.
#
In those ancient times the occupants of the planet Krella (Epsilon Eridani B5 to you Earthies) had an average height of a little less than two meters. Of humanoid form, their natural skin-colouring was a bright yellow, with the lesser orders enjoying a sun-diminished pale yellow. Unlike humans, no bodily hair was evident and their heads were covered with short yellow snake-like fronds. Large eyes were mounted over a delicate nose and a lipless mouth filled with lots of sharp canine teeth.
It was Buntar's misfortune to have a dark-green tinge to his skin and up until the unfortunate incident with the Deacon, he had been as normally coloured as the rest.
Late on that fateful day Buntar had been about the passageways on the menial task of washing the floor, unnoticed and ignored by all who passed by. After all, a mere foundling living on the charity of the Church, he would never be educated or trained for anything else.
He had seen the Moneylenders arrive and not for the first time they slipped in to the sumptuous accommodation of the Deacons by a private side door. His Yellowness and His Lesser Yellowness, the Under Deacon entertained their visitors where no underlings or Acolytes were supposed to be able to see. However, in the brief moment that the door was opened Buntar glimpsed a large oaken table groaning under the weight of supposedly sinful alcoholic drinks and many bags of coins.
When dark had fallen, squeaking girls from the city were heard behind the thick wooden door and Buntar had lingered too long in his adolescent curiosity. Their Esteemed Yellowness's had suddenly staggered out of their quarters with their Moneylender friends and a gaggle of laughing, partially disrobed women. They were all quite drunk when they came upon a surprised Buntar. Realising they had been observed the Deacons grabbed him, punching and kicking him repeatedly whilst screaming obscenities. They then threw him down the hard steps where he was to lie unconscious and bleeding until dawn.
The Deacons had staggered off, very pleased with themselves to usher their visitors away.
It was in the following days, confined to the infirmary with his injuries that Buntar's skin began to change colour with great speed, so fast that the attending Blood-letters and Leeches thought that the blood poisoning was to carry him off!
It was during that illness that Bunter had The Dream for the first time and late i
n the night, immersed in a fog of pain he imagined that he could see the outline of someone slowly taking shape at the foot of his bed. Buntar sat up, suffering the pain of his bruised body to see clearly that it was a man and not an apparition. The Visitor wore strange apparel that Buntar had not seen before in his closeted life in the Cathedral, but more strikingly the man had a dark leathery green skin!
"You have been chosen Buntar, by The Everlasting Universe itself! Look Buntar, look what is to be unless you can prevent it!"
Buntar blinked groggily and found he was standing somewhere high above the Plain of Krella only in the dream it was called Krella Prime, as if there were other worlds with the same name. Then the Dream ran its inevitable course and he woke up with a great sense of loss, tears flowing down his cheeks, crying for the Silver Ship.
When he had recovered from his injuries he found that he was forbidden to leave the Church Barracks and the Guards of the Military Prior had been warned not to let him through. No one from outside would ever see his green face or chance to hear his lies! He slowly came to realise that, like the Lamp-Lighters in the Cathedral roof, he was imprisoned until he died of old age!
#
Several nights later whilst sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, Buntar opened his eyes to see the insubstantial form of The Visitor take shape in the stone archway at the bottom of his bed.
"Who are you, what do you want?" he muttered, not expecting an answer.
"You must stop them, Exalted Green One. They will poison the destiny of Krella Prime and The Empire of The Green Sun will never be!"
"The Empire of The what?"
"Listen to me Buntar, please. The Wheels of Destiny are to be released by you. Remember, The Wheels."
The figure stepped back, disappearing into the darkness and no sound of receding footsteps was heard.
This second visitation haunted Buntar and kept him awake until a few hours before work, when he finally slumbered.
#
The following day, when everything was to change for Buntar and the Acolytes of The Church of the Everlasting Universe, he found himself serving at the Deacon's table and they were oblivious to him as he put down the bowls. But they had not forgotten him.
The Deacon spoke quietly, "The King is weak, and our Military Prior says it won't be too long until we have enough military strength to take over the city. We have made many inroads into the lives of the Citizens and we will soon control them!"
He had spoken of the Citizens with contempt, "Soon we will be able to turn back the tide of so-called progress and destroy their infernal manufactories! Then the people will look to us for guidance, as they should."
The Under Deacon smirked, "Yes and most of all I want to see those that call themselves the Makers burned at the stake and their dreams for a damned silver flying machine totally erased! Many a time I have told them, if the Everlasting Universe wanted Krells to fly......"
Suddenly the Under Deacon sensed a nervous Buntar hovering behind him and swung a long arm out that struck a powerful blow with a heavily-bejewelled fist. Buntar fell back with a bleeding face, dropping the tray of bowls he had been attempting to deliver and scattering porridge over a wide area, much to the amusement of the Acolytes on the tables below.
"Be off with you, you abomination!"
Before Buntar could recover he found himself looking into the eyes of His Esteemed Yellowness, the Deacon. The eyes were cold, venomous and shining with the absolute cruelty behind them. It was as if he could read the Deacon's mind; Buntar knows too much and I must be rid of him!
"Captain of the Guard! Take this wretch away. He is a heretic!"
At the tables the Acolytes laughed even louder, some even pounding the tables with their fists in rapture when two soldiers of the Military Prior grabbed Buntar and dragged him off towards the Cathedral. Some even ran outside into the courtyards to watch the events unfold.
Buntar squealed with fear and struggled as he realised that the fate of Heretics was always to be flung to their deaths from the Cathedral roof! A few deft blows from the soldiers quieted him down. He was in and out of consciousness as he was dragged from the Refectory, then to the Cathedral and up the tower stairs.
As they neared the roof gallery, one trooper said to the other, " 'ow about the east portal? 'E doesn't weigh much an' we should get a gud swing on 'im there an' 'e can fly a gud distance, heh, heh!"
" 'An' 'appy landins' to im!" said the other, "Should make a satisfying splash on them 'ard flagstones, I should say so!"
They both guffawed and dropped Buntar onto the hard stone floor because it would take both of them to heave open the heavy wooden portal. Buntar came back to consciousness and the soldiers laughed down at him, "Looks like 'e'll be awake to enjoy the whole experience of flyin'"
"An' leave a big brown mark all the way down!"
Buntar clenched his eyes shut in fear as they guffawed again but opened them when there was a loud yelp of sudden pain. One of the guards stood with a strange expression upon his face due to the bayonet protruding from the front of his chest. He collapsed onto the floor with a sound that Buntar thought akin to meat hitting a stone slab. The other man held his hands before him as The Visitor advanced, bloodied blade in hand, "Ere, no need fer that! We wus only carryin' out orders..."
The Visitor grimaced, "Your kind always do..."
And then the blade quickly jabbed the man's chest and withdrew to the sound of blood bubbling through strangled breath then again the sound of another body hitting stone.
"Get up Buntar! Hurry! You have work to do!"
Buntar staggered to his feet and when his head finally stopped spinning he looked about to find he was alone, holding the bayonet that dripped with blood. Had The Visitor been yet another figment of his imagination? The presence of the two dead soldiers said 'No' but the weapon in his hand said, 'possibly'.
He peered over the gallery and the Main Monastic Assembly of the day was about to take place before those assembled left for the city. Over four hundred Acolytes, nearly the whole compliment of the church, were taking their places to face the raised Vault upon which the Deacon, Under-Deacon and Military Prior sat ready to give the days instructions.
Above them and adjacent to Buntar in the roof space eight large and heavy timber wheels that were nearly the width of the Cathedral supported the thousands of candles necessary to illuminate the Cathedral below. Keeping them alight was a full time job for the poor Lamp-Lighters who had scattered and hid with the arrival of the soldiers. The heat and smell from the tallow candles began to make Buntar nauseous.
"What to do?" he wondered as panic began to grow in the back of his mind. Soon the copious amount of yellow blood from the guards would begin to run over the gallery edge and onto the congregation below; then someone would come up here to kill him and the Silver Ship would burn!
The Visitor's words came back to him, "The Wheels of Destiny are to be released by you. Remember, The Wheels."
Each of the eight lighting wheels were held up by a pulley and rope system. All eight were tied back and secured in the Upper Gallery at a single point. Buntar now knew that his only chance of escape and his only chance to save The Silver Ship came down to whatever he did now.
Realising that the weapon he held possessed a serrated edge on one side, he ran along the gallery. At the point where the pulleys were secured the Lamp-Lighters watched from their hiding places as Buntar began to saw back and forth with the blade. The thick cable was cut half way through when a commotion began below. Buntar turned to see copious amounts of blood that the Krell physiology demanded, now pouring over the gallery edge. He began to saw even faster, muttering "For The Silver Ship, for The Silver Ship!" over and over again.
With a loud crack, the rope parted, nearly taking Buntar's head from his shoulders. The heavy pulleys flew loose and the colossal candle-holding wheels plummeted away from the arched stone roof. On reaching the halfway point some of the ropes jammed but the kinetic force of the descent was
tremendous and tore the roof hangers free, creating huge holes in the roof from which heavy masonry also plummeted down upon the hapless congregation.
There was no escape for the majority of the Acolytes and the last thing that His Esteemed Yellowness the Deacon ever did was to gaze upwards and utter a brief scream as a gigantic wheel struck him.
As soon as the wheels had began their descent Buntar flew down the tower stairs, closely followed by over twenty others, the Lamp-Lighters! The stone steps shook under them with tremendous vibrations from the crashing debris. Reaching the bottom of the stairs was a cloud of dust and nothing could be seen. The forlorn slaves of the Church staggered out into the street and fled through the gathering crowds of concerned citizens. Soon the selfsame concerned citizens would be greedily picking through the wreckage and bodies for valuables.
#
Buntar managed to make good his escape from the city before the Hue and Cry went up, as did the Lamp-Lighters.
Squads of soldiers poured out of the Military Barracks and into the countryside searching only for Buntar. It would only be much later that they would realise their paymaster, The Church of the Everlasting Universe had received a mortal blow and was already dead. No more gold would be forthcoming.
Luck was still with Buntar as dusk began to fall and he found himself tired and exhausted hiding under a small wooden bridge with soldiers tramping to and fro above.
"It's getting dark. We'll find the damned Greenie tomorrow!" said one.
"Yeah! Then e'll burn, nice and crispy and slow, like!"
Things went quiet and dark except for the reflected light of the Krellas unnamed sister planet that was mistakenly believed to be a moon.
He tried to close his eyes to sleep but they flew open as he sensed something nearby and nearly screamed in fright. The face of The Visitor looked into his from a distance no greater than a hands width, "Don't sleep Buntar, unless you want to die."
Buntar could now examine the strange visage, the dark green skin weathered by a thousand worlds and the eyes containing green flecks from the Green Sun itself!
EMPIRE OF THE GREEN SUN Page 1
