by AJ Reissig
******
The expedition to the native village began in the blue-gray mist of pre-dawn. Nash and the rest of the Trident ditched their standard duty uniforms in favor of camouflaged field uniforms. A pair of the security detail took the lead with Davenport by their side to navigate.
Most of the journey was without incident and nearly everyone commented on the natural beauty of the land. Starting in the dewy meadow, the terrain soon gave way to a forest of widely scattered, enormous evergreen trees. A smooth, papery white bark coated the tree trunks, while deep blue-green needles the length of a man’s arm hung limp from the branches. A thick carpet of these needles muffled the sound of nine pairs of tromping feet, which made the wildlife noises all the more pronounced. A variety of bird chirps, the buzzing of insects, and the movement of unseen animals through the trees were all discovered.
“How much farther, Mr. Davenport?” Nash asked.
Davenport looked down at the small computer tablet that he was carrying. “About one and one-half kilometers.”
“That should put us just past that next rise,” Nash said pointing toward the easy slope that lay before them. To his left walked Marov. Her dark purple sweater was unzipped halfway down, revealing a white turtleneck below. Droplets of sweat coated her forehead and her chest rose and fell with heavy labored breaths.
Nash placed his hand on her shoulder. “You need to take a break, Ms. Marov?”
Marov wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Please call me Natasha. I am fine. It has been some time since I walked this far.”
With a nod, Nash replied, “I suspect lots of people are in the same boat as you. Chief Jordan told me yesterday that all of the walking he was doing was wearing him out.”
Natasha nodded her head between pants. “I am not in prime condition, but it is not good for man his age to carry so much weight.”
“Definitely not.”
Marov pointed to the long, thick curved knife on the rear of Nash’s utility belt. “Tell me about that knife. I have never seen a Coalition officer carry one.”
“It’s called a kukri,” Nash said. “They’ve been carried by Gurkha soldiers since the 1800’s.”
“Gurkhas?”
“They’re part of the British Army, recruited from Nepal, and are considered to be among the finest infantry on earth.”
“I still do not understand. Why do you carry the knife?”
“My grandfather was a British officer who commanded Gurkhas. Like many of the Gurkha officers, he learned kukri knife fighting techniques. When I was in my teens, he taught me what he had learned.”
“But I thought you were from the United States?”
“My grandfather moved to the United States when he retired. He bought a small place in the mountains of Montana, near Glacier National Park.. I went to live with him when I was thirteen; my parents were killed in a car accident.”
“I am sorry,” Marov said.
Nash shrugged. “It was a long time ago. While I wish my parents hadn’t died, I cherish the memories I have of my Grandfather.”
The group crested the rise and looked down into a shallow meadowed valley. The sun, shining through drifting, darkened clouds, spread its golden light on the valley highlighting the deep, green grass mixed with a kaleidoscope of flowers. Deep in the valley floor lay the village.
The village contained around fifty buildings; small round affairs with domed roofs that made the structures look like large mushrooms. Many had wisps of smoke rising from a central chimney. Tilled fields of deep brown earth and livestock pens, along with a few isolated structures, lay to the west.
“It looks like something out of a medieval fantasy novel,” Dr. Talhoo commented.
Several screams and loud shouting from the village broke the silence of the pastoral scene. Nash pulled his pistol, made a quick adjustment to the selector switch, and then turned to the rest of the group.
“Weapons on stun, let’s double time it.”
As the crew drew and adjusted their weapons, Nash said to Marov, “Follow us at a distance. I don’t want you hurt or lost.”
Before Marov could respond, Nash headed for the village at a run, followed closely by the rest of his crew.
Nash led the way into the village, sprinting through the muddy lanes toward the sound of the screams and shouting. For a time, not a soul in site. The close streets opened up, revealing a town square. Hundreds of human-looking beings sat in the dirt, most with terrified expressions on their faces; some cried. A dozen humanoid creatures carrying an assortment of swords, spears, and axes surrounded them. One of the creatures sat on a horse-sized cat-like animal, apparently his steed.
The standing humanoids were of human height, sinewy and broad of chest. White-pupiled eyes, shadowed by heavy brow ridges, sat over large noses and protruding mid-faces. Large canine teeth, with tips visible even with a closed mouth, rose from their lower jaws. Large ears, pointed in fairy tale fashion, flanked their skull. Not a single hair could be found on their skin, which was a brownish green, much like a pond with too much algae. Most stood bare chested, while wearing fur boots and pants of rough leather. The one on the cat also wore a leather vest with small metal plates attached to it.
One of the creatures drug a small child from behind one of the village huts. When he reached the area with the other villagers, he threw the child to the ground and put his sword to the child’s neck, yelling in his language.
“Leave those people alone!” Nash shouted.
Silence spread like wildfire as all eyes locked on Nash, now joined by his panting companions. The cat-mounted humanoid grabbed a spear from one of the others and drew a long, curved sword with the other hand. His eyes locked with Nash’s. He nudged the cat with his knee, and the cat slowly crept toward Nash. At about forty paces from Nash, he stopped and began to speak.
Lieutenant Macy, the translator, was standing just behind Nash. He read from his universal translator. “I am Kallack. I take what I want and kill what I want. Pray I do not destroy this village.”
Nash’s eyes remained fixed. “Lieutenant, tell Kallack that this village is now under my protection. He and his men must leave and never come back.”
“Translating now, sir.” The lieutenant translated and then Kallack laughed a deep laugh.
“You have no arms and yet you are the protector of this village? You should leave while you still have your lives.”
“I repeat my offer, Kallack. Leave now and no harm will come to you or your men.”
Kallack huffed loudly, straightened himself, and spoke.
“Enough talk,” Macy translated.
Kallack rode his cat to where the rest of his men stood and then turned around to face Nash. He bellowed in his own tongue and his followers whooped and yelled. Kallack yelled again, as his followers charged toward Nash and his crew.
Davenport readied his pistol. “I think that was the order to attack, Colonel!”
“You are a smartass at the worst times,” Nash replied. “Take them down!”
The high pitched sound of plasma rifles and pistols echoed, and Kallack’s men dropped before they got close enough to use their weapons. Nash fired on Kallack’s cat, which toppled to the side, pinning Kallack under its weight. The four remaining enemy threw their weapons to the ground and held their hands over their head.
“No matter how many worlds I visit,” Nash said, “that has to be the universal sign for I give up.”
Nash walked to Kallack, still struggling to get out from underneath the cat. He pointed his pistol at Kallack who stopped struggling and stared at Nash with a fiery glare.
“Lieutenant, get over here!”
The lieutenant ran to Nash’s side. “Tell Kallack that I will let him live and that his men will wake up in a few minutes. If he and his men ever return, they will be shot again and this time they will not wake up.”
After Macy’s translation, Kallack spoke.
“Sir, he says the Black Enchantress will hear abo
ut this.”
“Tell him I don’t care who he tells.”
Kallack’s upper lip twitched and a growl rose from deep in his throat.
One by one, Kallack’s horde regained consciousness and stood under guard by the security team. As soon as the cat woke, Nash ordered them to leave the village without their weapons. The creatures didn’t speak, but their burning eyes and angrily cast glares spoke volumes.
The villagers still sat silently on the muddy ground. One of them, sitting toward the front of the group, nudged another, who quickly smacked the other’s elbow. The second drew a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, soon followed by four others. The five approached Nash, the leader licking his lips and wringing his hands. They looked remarkably human, save for one feature; not one of them stood taller than Nash’s waist.
The leader peered through eyes set deep in a chubby face and under square-cut, ash-brown hair. This, combined with his height, lent him the appearance of a child, though the occasional silver hair betrayed age. He wore loose, baggy pants and a long tailed v-neck shirt, all woven from a coarse cloth. Moccasins, laced ankle high, cloaked his feet.
Still wringing his hands, he spoke in a near whisper. “I don’t know your name, stranger, but I must thank you for your help. I am Conway Lockskin, Chief Councilman of Vale.”
Nash blinked twice. “You speak English?”
“What is English?”
“That is what we call the language you’re speaking. What do you call it?”
“Common tongue.”
Nash bobbed his head. “Tell the people of your town that you have nothing to fear from us. We are new to these lands and wish only to meet and trade with you.”
A broad smile drew across Lockskin’s face, with the four standing behind him quickly following suit. One of the four turned toward the sitting crowd.
“God be praised! They have come as friends. Let us go about our day!”
The crowd filled with smiles and the air was filled with cries of joy and sighs of relief. Nash turned to the crew and motioned for Dr. Talhoo.
“Doc, you want to see if there are any injured?”
“Certainly, Colonel.”
Nash leaned toward the doctor’s ear and spoke in a whisper. “See what you can find out about them.”
Talhoo smiled, nodded, and descended into the crowd.
“Colonel Nash!”
Nash turned to see Marov standing cross armed behind him. Deep fissures in her forehead combined with a dark frown, creating a foreboding look. “You say you don’t want me lost, and then you run away!”
“Looks like you made it just fine,” Nash replied.
Marov stamped her left foot. “I would have preferred not to travel the last kilometer alone.”
“I’m sorry about that, but my gut told me I was needed here.” Nash drew a deep breath. “Look, you are here now, so why not do what you came here to do?”
“No wonder you are not married,” Marov said as she stormed off into the village.
Nash arched his left eyebrow and shook his head. He returned his attention to Lockskin, standing with his hands behind his back.
“Who are you big people?” Lockskin asked, voice now loud to overcome the crowd.
“My name is Christopher Nash and I am the Colonel of—” Nash hesitated for a moment, “a sky ship that crashed not far from here. You may have seen the crash in the afternoon sky two days ago. It would have looked like a ball of fire in the sky.”
“Oh, yes. Most in the town saw that. Many though that it was the work of the Black Enchantress.”
“This is twice I’ve heard of the Black Enchantress. Who is she?”
“A witch, the most feared in the land. Skin black as night, hair like snow. She lives eternally. Hundreds of years ago, she enslaved my people. But our ancestors escaped bondage and settled in this valley.”
Have you ever seen her?”
“No. Nobody in the village has. But we have seen evidence of her sorcery.” Lockskin rubbed his chin. “A sky ship? It sails through the air like on water?”
“Yes,” Nash replied. “We come from one of the points of light in your night sky.”
He continued rubbing his chin. “This needs more thought. And food. Come with me, Christopher Nash, and we will talk with the rest of the town council. The town hall, I should think … it may be the only building tall enough for you.”
“That sounds fine, Mr. Lockskin.” He turned to Davenport. “Learn what you can while I meet with the town council.”
“Yes, sir.”