Three Sons

by Saxon Keeley

  Taking the first steps on their journey, Wolf looks behind to see Li unable to leave the temple behind.

  Waving her over, he calls for her to follow. “Come on.”

  Tearfully she obeys. The soldier and the little girl head down to the old parking lot, passed the rusting abandoned buses and make their way to the road that runs along the mountain’s side. He leaves China with a seed of hope, a chance for peace to blossom, buried in the mountains of Shanxi.

  WHITE DRAGON

  Jotunheim

  White Dragon

  Corpses lay strewn across the battlefield. As far as the horizon blood soaks the dust that covers the surface of the planet. A crater sits in the middle of the field of dead. A penetrating golden aura radiates from the centre, brighter than the three suns hanging in the sky. In the gravitational skirmish between the stars, one is completely eclipsed. The wind howls ominously, rousing the fallen soldiers.

  From the marrow of the rotting bodies, a great beast rises. Its talons burst through flesh, crawling out from the decay to be reborn once again. Its scales ivory. A blade-like spine runs down its back. Its right horn broken. Red and gold flames spew from its mouth.

  The battlefield reanimates. Limbs held together by tethered tissue. Their eyes scorched by the suns. There are no sides and the soldiers begin attacking one another. In their midst’s the White Dragon feeds, relishing in the carnage.

  The golden glow from the crater is snuffed out by a red sea that drowns those still left standing. As the dragon swims to the depths to slumber, the third sun remerges and the heat begins to evaporate the coagulating liquid.

  Wesley Jung

  Sprung upright, Wesley holds his chest gasping for air. His lungs burn as if they have been filled with liquid sulphur. Expecting to throw up, he leans over to one side and chokes out little more that spittle. His squad watch as he eventually comes to.

  “You alright Sir? Another bad dream?”

  He nods, leading back against the metal interior of the carriage. Having drifted off some time ago, he wonders how long they have until they reach their destination. The gentle swaying of the train running along the electromagnetic track is almost enough to send him off again. He rests his head and closes his eyes.

  Cries for help echo outside of the moving train.

  “What…is that?”

  Each of them look around sheepishly, waiting for someone else to offer the inadequate explanation they themselves had been given. Wesley grows impatient, not expecting to have to ask twice.

  “Several carts ahead, they are transporting Separatists.”

  “Prisoners…of war?”

  The soldier shrugs. “That is what they told us.”

  This is a cargo train. This line takes them well into Loyalist territory. The only reason Wesley and his squad hitched a ride was because it would take them to last boats leaving for Maia. There are no holding camps this far from the frontline and therefore no reasonable purpose for them to be transported so far.

  He takes the strap of his Dragon Crescent and places it over his head. Not wanting the intervention from his squad, or the imitating presence of a large group, he orders them to stay put while is investigates.

  A thin layer of dust covers the base of each cart, dampening his footsteps. Cart after cart are crates stacked high. With every motion of the train, the stacks wobble precariously. He busts open a lone crate to find it filled with rudimentary mining equipment. Expecting to see the transportation of raw minerals ready for processing, he is surprised to see such basic tools that not even the harshest mines on Neo-Shanxi ever prohibited the use of.

  Two Shanxi soldiers, their armour a mossy green, stand guard on the platform to the next cart. The wailing of Separatist captives from inside is whirled down the tunnel as the train maintains its pace. Dim red lights blink passed them as a blur. Wesley steps out onto the joining platform.

  “I need…to get through…to the other cart.”

  The soldiers in green look at each other through their orange visors, then shake their heads.

  “No one is allowed beyond this point. If you have a question for the driver, we can pass it on for you,” one of them said.

  Palms beat against the metal box, followed by cries for help. The two guards pretend as if there is nothing out of the ordinary, standing firm and Wesley can see the gap between them tighten.

  “Who exactly…are you transporting? Where are you…taking them?” he asked.

  Again, the soldiers act as if there is nothing suspicious going on. It is clear to Wesley that these men do not answer to Maia, or at least not to its general.

  They realise that Wesley is not going to be so easily fobbed off as the others, and foolishly the bolder of the two squares up to him. Wesley, never deterred by a man’s size, steps in closer looking up at the orange lens. He clenches his fist.

  “Step down…soldier. I can have you…redeployed to Mu,” he warned.

  The soldier scoffs. “It is not up to you, sir. We did you a favour in offering you a ride, now go back to your squad and sit tight until we tell you to get off.”

  Wesley’s fist shatters his visor. Shards cut his face, the blood blinding him. Before he knows it, he is forced off balance and flung over the railing. The exoskeleton absorbs the impact of the fall, but his body is caught on the tracks. The electrical current slowly cooks him inside the suit.

  He grabs the barrel of the other soldier’s rifle, feeling the shots pass through. Bullets twang against the tunnel, too far away now for either of them to hear. Forcing the soldier by the neck over the railing, a passing train near misses taking his scalp. Wesley disarms him, throwing the gun over the edge. Once the train disappears off into the tunnel, a deafening howl bursts his eardrums as the sound attempts to catch up.

  The soldier watches Wesley’s lips move, but his voice cannot compete with the ringing in his ears. The Dragon Crescent is shoved underneath his chin as he is pulled back, a force which sets his teeth on edge. He tries his best to read Wesley’s half disfigured lips.

  “Who are these…people?” asked Wesley.

  “Separatists.”

  Not content with the answer, Wesley lets go of the soldier. His weight falls back over the railing. He flails about trying to grab a hold of anything that will save him. Wesley reaches out his arm. The soldier can feel the strain and desperately clings on. Again, he reads his lips.

  “Separatist…soldiers?”

  “No,” he cried, shaking his head. “Civilians.”

  “Where are you…taking them?”

  “The Golden Ring. The end of the line.”

  With everything he needs to hear, Wesley relaxes his arm and the soldier slips free. The scream was pitiful and desperate, but could only be heard by the last few carts.

  Over the past six years, Wesley has sensed the distrust grow between him and his brother. Increasingly Alistair seeks the council of partisan ministers, the support of Shanxi officers and behind closed doors conspires to destabilise colonies so they too may join his vengeful crusade. It was only by chance that Wesley caught wind of the attack on Mu, just as it was by chance he stumbled on his brother’s labour scheme for this planet. The extent of his brother’s transgressions is bubbling to the surface.

  Wesley knows what must be done. One act of terror to prevent countless others. To expose the tyranny of his brother’s regime so that a secure bedrock for lasting peace may be established.

  Where a dragon once ran down, a twisted smile rests scorched into his skin. He climbs onto the roof of the cart. The speed in which the train moves through the tunnel is dizzying. Air hits him at such force that he can hardly breathe. He crawls his way over the to the next cart, cautious to stay as low as possible.

  The red lights begin to take distinguishable shape. It becomes easier and easier to climb across. The train is slowing down. Wesley pushes himself harder, knowing there is not much time left.

  More soldiers stand guard in the locomotive, wittering their time away
with the driver. Through the small window, Wesley counts how many. He checks his rifle, then places his hand on the sliding door.

  It slams open. The intrusion takes them by surprise. One after the other they go down. Orange visors shatter and shards of glass and bone spray the interior in a fountain of red. Empty shells rattle as they fall against the steel floor. By the time the magazine is empty, the whole locomotive is cleared.

  Screens and dials detail readings that Wesley does not understand, but the map indicates they are close to the Golden Ring, a massive crater in the middle of the dust. The smell of cinders tickle his nose.

  He unclips his belt, securing it so it hangs from the generator and removes a single explosive. He sets the timer long enough for him to escape the blast radius and places it back. Stepping over the bodies, a fleeting moment of guilt brings him to a stop. He forces himself not to feel, not to overthink his actions.

  Wesley rushes through the next cart, bursting into the next. Shanxi soldiers look on with confusion as he pelts down the aisle. He comes to an abrupt holt at the third cart, as he slides the door open he releases the captured Separatist civilians. They trample over one another, fighting to escape.

  Hauled back in the direction he came, Wesley is momentarily saved by the wall of soldiers trying to prevent further chaos. One of the commanders yells at him, demanding an explanation for his actions. Wesley smiles a twisted smile.

  A loud explosion followed by an even greater one echoes down the tunnel. The gentle rhythmic swaying turns into violent and unpredictable motions. The electrical hum falls dead. A sudden jolt of the train falling through the tracks knocks everyone from their feet. Men and women scream. The lights flicker, then cut out completely. Steel screeches against steel. Another loud explosion. Then their stomachs turn, as if they were free falling.

  Moans and whimpers are muffled by suffocation. Blood trickles down the layers of bodies. Wesley wakes up to find himself buried, the weight crushing him. He uses the strength of his exoskeleton to force some space for himself. With a single snap, Wesley finds the room to begin climbing his way out. A sea of grasping limbs hinders his ascent.

  His muscles burn and his lungs feel as if they might burst. Each person he passes is a fight within itself. Through the scratching fingers he can see the light.

  Someone grabs a hold of his hand and pulls him up to the surface. The first breath of air stings. A soldier in black uniform hoists him towards the door above where another soldier waits.

  “Sir, grab my hand.”

  From the top of the cart, Wesley watches his squad as they attempt to save as many as possible from the crash site. The tunnel has been blown apart and the train lays twisted in the dust. Sheets of metal stab the earth. The blackened locomotive survived only as a frame, the bodies and what happened to them incinerated in the blast.

  Across the dust along the horizon stand the mountains that surround the Golden Ring.

  White Dragon

  Above a lightning storm rages in the clouds of dust that obscure the red sky. Roars of colossal beings boom like thunder, shaking the very ground. All around the mountains gold radiantly sparkles.

  His armour is rusted. His rifle heavy. His skin weathered and his bones brittle. His feet bleed for the journey he travels is long. Each step takes him closer to the centre of the crater. He slips and slides on lose rock, getting closer to the sound of children playing.

  Three imposing golden figures mull over a game of marbles. Their bodies remain stationary while their arms stretch out like elastic to reach for the pieces, colours of which swirl like a hurricane sweeping across the globe. The pattern in which the marbles fall resemble the stars.

  The eldest of the three has both feminine and masculine features, and watches the game with excited eyes. When it is her turn, she throws her marble for it to only plummet to the ground. None of them react. It is apparent that they don’t know the rules.

  On seeing the old soldier, the middle figure tugs on the robes of the eldest, warning them of his presence. Having done his best to ignore her, the eldest is eventually forced to avert his attention from the game.

  “Do you want to play with us?”

  “He cannot play with us,” dismissed the youngest figure. “He is not even supposed to be here. What is a dragon doing in the land of giants?”

  “A land of…giants?”

  “You look tired,” said the middle figure.

  “Don’t confuse him,” said the eldest. “You should probably leave now. They are right, this is no place for your kind.”

  Without argument, he turns his back on the three golden figures and continues his long journey. From the dust, a dim red glow twistedly smirks. Fiery red hair burns wildly in the storm. The oppressive heat emitted melts even the rocks. The soldier sinks into the liquefying earth.

  Eden

  Wesley Jung

  “Sir, wake up!”

  Wesley opens his eyes, gasping for breath. His clothes soaked in cold sweat, yet he feels like his insides are burning. He looks around at the men and women who surround him, all in white coats and wearing masks that filters oxygen levels. They sit him up and one of them begins to check his temperature. Wesley swats away the hand from his forehead.

  “Sir, we must be incredibly careful. The ecosystem here is a fine balance, to introduce a foreign virus would spell annihilation for this entire planet.”

  “I am…not sick,” explained Wesley. “It was just…a bad dream.”

  None of them are convinced, but he ignores their concern and orders them to hand over the white overalls and oxygen mask determined to see his brother this very instant. While he puts them on over his clothes, one of the assistants’ radios Oscar for approval. A disinterested murmur is all they receive in reply.

  “Please secure the mask tight,” he is instructed by the assistant. “When you are ready we will open the hatch.”

  Pulling the straps secure, he gives them an agitated nod and the hatch is swung open. As he emerges from the Grey Heron, the world he has landed on is unlike anything he as ever seen. Ancient trees climb as high as the buildings of Neo-Shanxi. Shades of green he did not know existed flutter in the gentle breeze. Vegetation covers every inch, growing naturally without intervention. Below the landing pad, the ground is alive. Decaying leaves rustle as an enormous plated creature roams the forest floor.

  Wesley peers over the edge to get a better look but it is too dark to trust his own eyes. The whole forest seems to move in otherworldly ways. Feeling like he is being stalked he takes a step back. There is more in the air than the swaying of branches. Long legs feeling for stability. The clicking of pincers. A flapping of wings.

  Swooping by his head, a giant insect snips at Wesley’s ear. He drops down low, watching as the gold and black winged insect disappears into the trees. Blood fills his ear. Disorientated, he tries to follow the calls of the assistants. On the other side of the landing pad they wave frantically to get his attention. He makes a break for the entrance to the facility, close behind the beating wings chase.

  The doors slide shut the second he is through. His ear throbs and he checks to make sure it is still there. Each of the assistants nervously laugh, only to receive an unfavourable glare from Wesley.

  “Be careful, those bugs are predators,” one of them joked to ease the tension.

  “What…was that thing?”

  “I guess the closest comparison you could make, would be to the dragonfly. Just, a lot bigger,” another assistant explained. “We should see to that.”

  “No need…I will be…fine with a cloth.”

  For three years Oscar has hidden way, making the rare periodical visit to Maia and Neo-Shanxi for the TFP inspection. Intrigued as to why his brother has kept this planet off the charts, the five minutes he has spent here is reason enough. To draw any sort of attention to a world like this so close to the Core would be catastrophic.

  With his ear bandaged up, he is lead into the decontamination chamber were they all
stretch out their arms to form a T shape. A fine mist is sprayed from all sides. Gathering along his eyelids, he squeezes them tight trying to avoid the moister from irritating his eyes. After a minute of continuous spraying, a warm red glow dries them.

  “You may take off your oxygen mask now.”

  Happy to do so, Wesley is then taken into the main facility. Deceptively large, there is lab after lab with teams working on cutting edge technological advancements, experimental military grade equipment, breakthroughs in space travel and whole departments devoted to studying the native lifeforms of Eden. Cylinders forming a wall to one of the labs preserves different specimens. Each giant resembles a creature that could be found on Earth: spiders, millipedes, cockroaches, dragonflies and scorpions.

  Creating his own detour, Wesley leans in towards the glass of the spider-like specimen. Utterly astounded, he can count each hair on its body, make out the hooks at the end of each of its eight thick legs and its fangs are larger than his own teeth. His nose practically touching the cylinder, he is completely mesmerised.

  Slamming against the glass, the spider-like creature spasms. Wesley jolts back, once again being given the shock of a lifetime. The escorting assistant holds back their amusement.

  “Shit…is there not anything…on this planet that…does not jump…out at you?”

  “Very little I am afraid.”

  The assistant continues escorting him through the facility towards his brother’s lab, coming across another distraction. A large observatory window frames the environment outside. Blissfully ignorant of being under observation, the creatures of this world hunt and survive in a pattern which can only be measured in deep time. Wesley keeps his distance, not wanting another nasty surprise.

  “Brother,” Oscar called excitedly, briskly marching over to greet him. “I am so glad you could finally see it for yourself. A true wonder of the galaxy.”

  “This is a…strange planet.”