Airith- the Kentilan War Read online

  “Look at me!” a hollow voice cried out. The despair was an agonizing weakness in his limbs and a dampness on his skin. He tried to look away, but his will could not defy Mother’s pull. He grimaced up at her. She was unwound from the squirming mass of cables that formed her cocoon, and now she hung from them, fifty feet above their heads as the cables squirmed like a mass of frenzied creatures. A black essence dripped from her, the Sadness forming a sleeping pool of black liquid gel below her, the Sadness pool; a weakness she had drawn from her millions of children and weaponized.

  “My children,” her multiple voices hissed all at once as she descended, slithering in the air. Her piercing eyes bore into Vidmantas, etching anxiety into his soul. She drew close enough so he could gaze into the abyss of her soul and he stood there, entranced.

  “Mother,” the Three said in unison.

  “You have failed me, yet again!” her voices cried as she drew closer, until there was nothing but vacuum between her face and Vidmantas's.

  He quivered and his vision blurred with tears. A harrowing sickness was numbing him. Mother. Mother did that to him.

  “You will have them, I will not fail you this time,” he grieved.

  “Excuses!” Her banshee cry threw him back onto one knee and his brothers cowered behind him. Mother rose above them, and with her, the liquid Sadness ascended, spiraling around until it had become a black sheath covering two-thirds of her mechanical body.

  “I have taken your weakness and yet you still fail me. I have set you above your siblings and yet you have been defeated by a child!” Her cry rippled through the walls and floors.

  The static shocked Vidmantas. He cowered until his forehead was pressed hard into the cold floors.

  “Forgive me, Mother. I have failed you,” he groaned, looking up to Mother.

  The Sadness moved like an amoebic being, slipping into the crevices of the metal plates that comprised half of her skin. Cryolite fumes fizzed as these slates slid open, allowing the excited black liquid to rush into Mother, filling her.

  “Again, it falls to me and my Sadness to do everything,” she hissed as her body plates slid back in place and the dark fluid fell away from her, back into the pool underneath her. Her eyes radiated with a crimson light and the black essence trailed from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks and disappearing under her chin.

  “I want my daughter. Unlike you, she has value to me. Unlike you, she is important. Unlike you, I love her!”

  Her cry curdled the blood in his veins as she spread out her arms and the Sadness shot out like a glistening web. His heart stopped and the air around his ears sang as the black matter darted past him. His brothers screamed. He spun to a horror. The matter had impaled Martus and Remic against a wall. They struggled as the roiling mass writhed through them; it had punctured their armor, and Vidmantas could see blood. He shuddered.

  “Mother please!” he screamed, going down on both knees, hands lifted in supplication.

  “Pick one, Vidmantas,” her voices screamed.

  “One?” Vidmantas struggled to follow her hateful gaze but he couldn’t bear to see the sight behind him; his brothers strung up like dolls.

  “Pick one!” she rasped. “One of them has to die. Your punishment for failing me once again. You will take your sword and behead the one you choose.”

  “Mother, they are my brothers!”

  “Will you disobey me, Vidmantas? Will you fail me once more?” Her voices snickered.

  “Mother, please!” Vidmantas banged his head against the floor. The pain lanced through his head. Surely Mother could be forgiving. Surely Mother could give him another chance. “Please, Mother!” He banged his head again, ignoring the scream from his nerves.

  “If you don’t pick, I will. And they will die much more slowly that way.” Her voice was solid ice; the chills ran down his spine, but the meaning of her words struck a chord. He would lose Remic. He would lose the only useful sibling he had. Vidmantas rose to his feet, tasting the metallic tang of his blood in his mouth. The warm liquid trickled from a bruise in his forehead, and the glass of his helmet was cracked, the fissures nearly blinding him.

  “Choose,” Mother urged eagerly.

  Vidmantas reached for the blade clasped to his back. Its laser edges flicked on as he held it in both hands. He eyed Martus sadly. Martus understood the conveyed message and began to squirm, mouthing muffled words; words he never learnt to pronounce, because there was no tongue to form them. Vidmantas readied himself with a wide-legged stance, dragging the cusp of his blade along the floor as he plodded toward his struggling brother.

  “Forgive me, brother.” He stopped to give him one last look, then dashed like a thunderbolt, his blade a flash of silver. But before his sword could reach its destination, an explosion of black knocked him to the side, his blade skidding out of reach. He winced through the pain, and could make out the thick, lithe form of the Sadness curling away, back to Mother. She had stopped him in time. But why?

  Mother’s hysterical laughter filled the chamber, bouncing off the walls and ringing loud in his ears. He struggled to shut her out.

  “Rise, my child,” she whispered as Remic and Martus dropped to the floor. Vidmantas dragged himself back onto his knees, biting through agonizing pain. “You have proven to me, that you may still be useful after all.”

  Loud, mechanical grating signaled the movement of the mechanical crane that supported and kept her attached and mobile. The long contraption moved with two gigantic pincers, which clasped gingerly around her, like a mother handling a child. Vidmantas watched this rare sight; Mother was detaching herself from the Sadness pool. Her torso ended in an unnatural mechanic stump just below the transparent glass that exhibited her still-born child. The mechanical arms moved her away from them, farther into the darkness of the chamber, where Vidmantas could vividly see the segmented legs of a half-built machine, one built to resemble the arachnoid rattlers that roamed this territory.

  Gingerly, the crane set her atop the machine. Fumes fizzed as her body locked with machine, giving her six segmented legs below her bulging stomach.

  “Do you like it?” she snickered.

  “It suits you well,” Remic muttered. The fear and pain echoed in his tone, like it always had, but this time with an added ingredient; something dark and sinister.

  Mother approached them, towering over them by a few feet. The metal floors clanged as she approached, groaning under her new weight. She stopped short of her sons with a tight-lipped smile; one Vidmantas suspected could have been wider if not for the body plate that replaced one-half of her face.

  Suddenly she lashed out at him, one of her legs cracking the air and wrapping tight around his torso, squeezing his entrails. He thought he heard a rib snap. Within moments, he found himself levitating above his brothers, unable to breathe.

  “You already know what I do to those who betray me. I want you to seek out that little whore of yours, that reject of a brother and make them both bleed. Let them watch each other suffer before you bring them back to me. I will take my Valdovas to the Life Pool and take care of the Indigos.”

  The pressure rising to his head was debilitating, numbing and suffocating him, but she squeezed him tighter until his whole being centered on every single word coming from her lipless mouth.

  “The new Motherhood Supremacy is within my reach, and no one will be able to keep me from taking back my daughter and turning all who have turned their backs on me into ash.”

  She let go, and he slammed back to the floor. He retched up air, volumes of it and focused on breathing to restore himself.

  “Anything else, besides your inadequacies?” The floors clanged as Mother tapped away, back toward the Sadness pool.

  “Good news, Mother.” Vidmantas pulled himself up on all fours, catching his breath. The tapping stopped. He could feel Mother’s curious gaze without having to look at her. “We can confirm that the Creator's ship was shot down by Kentilan defenses, for reasons un
known to us.”

  A silence held for just a moment as the news dawned on Mother.

  “Oh?” Her gaze stretched across the room to meet his. Her excitement showed in the wild arch above her eyes, where she still had organic skin. “One less person between me and Phara…” She closed her eyes to imagine this vision more fully.

  “I can finally have the Life Pool to myself and Phara, my daughter. With her alive and busy protecting her friends, I can easily take the rest of the Life Pool and finally create an army strong enough to destroy the whole empire.” She zapped back across the room to her original place.

  “And then, once you’ve brought me the two lovers, I can create a new birthing cycle infusing not only the Life Pool, but Skyfire into all my new citizens. My Motherhood Supremacy will be born!” The delight echoed in her loud, hysterical lilts until she stopped and gave Vidmantas a tight-lipped smile. “And I promise you, you will have your bride. Of course, only after I kill her over and over again till my heart is content. Once, she is reconfigured, I will leave those memories of pain and death, so she will NEVER think about disobeying me again.”

  *

  The Kentilan palace was a three-towered structure that rose high above the dim Kentilan skyline. It’s arched and dark tinted windows kept out the sun and imprisoned a gloom that hung heavy in the wide hallways of the Imperial compound. The evening's breeze bellowed through the hallways, disturbing the emblazoned banners that hung high and mighty above the sculptures of the Emperor himself and the tall armored soldiers that guarded him.

  A tapping could be heard in the hallways, brisk and light, intermittent and excited. A man clad in sweeping regalia paced back and forth in his throne room, a massive solarium that channeled the sun's energy to the center of the room, where the rays bounced off the sculpture of the Emperor in the gleaming floor.

  His breathing wheezed softly, a negligible drag that could be heard halfway across the room by the ten pairs of ears at the large center table. The men seated were his generals, all clad in regal armor and uniform. The Emperor stood aloof from them, wrapped in a reverie of his own, pacing back and forth, shoulders raised, and arms folded behind him as his thoughts flourished.

  The generals exchanged anxious looks. Who was going to pull him back to reality?

  “And you have no doubt the whole Empire believes it?” His tone was crisp and curt, slicing off at each syllable, a question directed at no one in particular, a question that demanded an immediate answer.

  “Yes!” the generals chorused. Heads were lost when anyone stalled with the Emperor’s questions.

  “Splendid!” He spun with an intense gaze that systematically swept the faces at the table, spending a split second on each one until he spun back to continue his ramblings. “Tell me more!” he urged no one in particular. All the men glanced hopefully in the direction of the Kentilan army General in Chief, a stout man with bushy brows.

  “The fact that we got him to return fire sold it. Now that we know Skyfire is real and he imbued the two assassins with it, we don’t need him,” the General boomed, his rich, bass voice filling the room.

  The Emperor spun round to face him with a frown. He hadn’t liked that, people talking louder than he.

  “Forgive me, my Emperor.” The General froze, unable to tear his eyes away from the Emperor’s cold glare. An uneasy silence hung, the men remaining still in their seats.

  The Emperor smiled as he turned his back on them. “Continue,” he urged, turning back to the windows, which overlooked the golden horizons of skyscrapers and neon lights. His Empire. One that was currently incomplete, missing the millions of acres of land he once devoted to Homecity. To the left of his majestic vision sat the dome, it’s ethereal light outshining the neon lights all over the city and its imposing mass belittling everything else. The Creator’s City. The disgust was a tingling ache in his left eyelid. He touched the tender skin to keep that nerve from throbbing.

  “Our hidden eyes have located the assassins. They were spotted at Sector Three two hours ago, so they will be likely hiding out at the Springs.” Another general said; a tall, lithe man in control of State information and affairs.

  “Good. I want a bounty on their heads. I want every Level Nine special agent sent out to bring them in, as well as a hefty reward offered to anyone who can give us information on their current whereabouts.” The Emperor nodded.

  The generals bowed their heads. “My lord, what about the Indigos?” the stout one asked.

  The Emperor raised a brow and cocked his head. He had almost forgotten the stench of a race that thwarted his earlier efforts to overthrow the Creator. The Creator's special breed. Now, they were defenseless. Now, they were at his mercy. And what should he do about them?

  “Kill as much of the filth as possible. Although…” He paused and smiled. “There will be no need.” He watched, pleased, as his generals frowned. He knew they would be wondering why it was unnecessary.

  “Has Operation Root been successful?” he asked the stout general pointedly.

  “Yes, all Firmament main and back-up generators have been compromised and rigged to blow. We'll have access to Homecity in no time,” the general replied.

  It was music to the Emperor's ears; he shook his head in relish. “Excellent!” he gasped, and then added slowly, “I want two royal divisions sent to the Springs. Secure the vessels and bring them to me, alive. I want to be present when my maester tears these gifts from their bodies.” He turned to his audience with a fire in his eyes as he continued loudly, “Send another division to bring down the Glitch server. That monstrosity has corrupted the otherwise beautiful view of my mornings, propagating ancient and moronic radio signals—signals that have brainwashed my once proud and pure citizens! Signals that should have been erased with the destruction of the planets that created them!” He drew a ragged breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry, gentlemen.” His tone regained its usual curt and crisp definition. He approached them until he stood between two of his subordinates.

  “Lastly.” His smile spread wider. “Once I’ve extracted my Skyfire from the assassins, send out Royal corps to take out that abomination that sits loftily amongst the ancient ruins. Mother. Once we destroy her, all her spawn will die, everything within the sub districts and the four Sectors combined. It’s a little secret that only I know. Even, the Creator has no idea.” He snickered, “I took extreme caution to ensure I had a fail-safe plan.” He brought his hands down on the generals nearest to him, seeing all their faces illuminate with the new info.

  “Rejoice, men. For a new age is here.” He spun and his cape billowed after him.

  “My lord? Must we kill the abomination? Especially if it means the death of hundreds of millions of Homecity citizens? Our labor force dropped by 10 percent this year; our industrial sector desperately needs a flux of new working hands.”

  The Emperor took in the message with salty nonchalance. He bopped his head softly to an unheard music, staring out at the view. “Waste of good work force? I know. But I’m not concerned. The Homecity dwellers have no blood ties to the Kentilan race. They are merely squatters tainted with abominable genes. They have no place in my Empire.”

  A silence of approval followed amongst the men at the table.

  “My Lord, we are set to begin the repossession,” the stout General said as holoscreens appeared in front of every General seated at the table. An access window demanded their code words. They systematically typed in codes until only the Emperor was left. A finger scan virtualized before him.

  “Let the repossession begin.” The Emperor pressed his thumb against the virtual pad just as a tremor shook the palace. He gazed out over the palatial grounds; the gates where opening, and the sun’s streak of gold reflected off the gleaming arenite armor of a moving swarm—scores of royal guards marching to war.

  MOTHER

  An Age Ago

  S erenity settled over the main city that night, a peace that knew not the winded hallways of the Palace
grounds. A grunting echoed in the main ways, superseded by the snap of a whip and the cry of women. Their agony danced off the walls and swept out to the throne room. The whip lashed again. Its sudden crack made the Creator jerk. He stood alone in the throne room. The arched hallways conveyed sounds into even the recesses of the palatial grounds. A man roared, like an obscene creature from a nightmare. The whip cracked again. Another woman’s cry. The grunting continued.