Age of the Marcks

by Gregory Benson

  “I was destroyed. I couldn’t even eat. I felt sick and empty as I laid awake each night thinking of what’s become of her. Until one day, I could no longer stand it. I had to get her back, and I set out to beg Gorag for her return.

  “When I arrived at his castle, he sat upon his throne with his harem surrounding him, and there she was and lovely looking as I could ever recall. Gorag agreed to let her go if she still wished it, but something had changed in her. She no longer wanted to be with me. Then Gorag laughed at me . . . taunting me, gaining enjoyment from my suffering. I was so enraged that he turned her against me that I grabbed a nearby lamppost and ripped it from the floor, and then charged at Gorag with every intention in my thoughts to kill him.

  “However, his guards seized me before I could land my blow. I was mercilessly beaten and charged with attempting to kill a regional lord and sentenced to the remainder of my natural life in Dispor. So you can see, I have little desire to leave anymore. There is nothing out there for the likes of me.” He looked down again, pressing his hands across the back of his head. Crix watched him intently. He felt his pain and sadness.

  “Your story is very sad. You’ve submitted to your misfortune and have nothing, just a miserable life down here by yourself,” Crix said as he got up, walked over to Kerriah, and placed his arm around her shoulder. She looked at him and returned a warm smile. “You see, we haven’t given up yet, and we will find our friend and leave this place intact, even if it takes every drop of my strength and determination. Perhaps this is an opportunity for your life to have meaning again, to stand for something, to stand up against your persecutors. Help us . . . help us get through that passage.” Kerriah was impressed and treasured Crix even more.

  Bletto squatted down and buried his face in his legs for a couple of minutes as he gave out a muffled groan, thinking of his lost love. “Okay . . .” He stood up slowly and rubbed his face. He valued the way Kerriah looked at Crix. “Okay, I will help you, but you’ll have to listen to me and do as I say. If I say we back out, we back out and wait until a better time, no matter how long that takes.”

  “What exactly will we see there?” Kerriah asked.

  “All I can tell you is what is there is not supposed to be there, and we don’t stand a chance getting out if we’re sighted. You will have to see for yourselves for I’m not good with explanations.” He gurgled up a little indigestion, pulled up some loose flesh around his belly, and then found a comfortable spot in the corner. He had a look of someone who had no intention of moving for a little while or answering any more questions. They settled in for a short rest and gave the disturbed scabs time to resume their dormancy.

  Crix cuddled close to Kerriah, and she gently placed her head to his shoulder. He caressed her perfect black hair. He noticed that it still shined even after all they have been through. It was flawless, and her green eyes glistened like gemstones.

  “It’s amazing . . .” He took a short breath and paused for a few seconds. “It’s amazing, in an awful place such as this, where everything seems so dreadful, such beauty can exist. You bring an amazing brightness when you’re present, one that I have never felt until the day I found you crashed in Drisal. I hope we are never apart from each other.” Kerriah’s eyes slowly rose up, meeting his, and she gave a soft smile, and then snuggled into his chest. The time went by too quickly for both.

  Not yet asleep, Bletto listened, and his heart felt warmth for the first time in many years. There was something he needed to get off his mind, information he was privy to that could further their resolve.

  “Hey, there’s something I have been keeping from you about the Andor you’re looking for. I did not want to tell you that was him before because I didn’t want you to leave.” Crix and Kerriah both popped up from their bedding.

  “I knew it!” Crix cried out.

  “He told me his story. It was a story about a baby he’d saved many years ago. I still remember all the details, and I believe you would be interested.” Bletto propped himself up with a serious look. “I have to tell you about Creedith and baby Crix.”

  Crix and Kerriah both looked over at each other wide-eyed. Creedith and Crix?

  Bletto began to tell the story with detail and amazing accuracy. It was apparent that he had heard this story many times and memorized it. He somehow understood the epic importance of Creedith’s tale. He started by taking them back twenty years ago during the tragic war . . .

  CHAPTER 20

  H aving utilized the speed of Plexo’s specially modified ship, they arrived hours ahead of the pursuing Marck fleet. Creedith made his way to Lator, Corin’s hometown on Soorak. He had a promise to keep. Corin took a mortal wound saving the remains of the Vico Legion from Zearic, and his dying wish was to ensure the safety of his family. Creedith was going to do more than that. He was going to take Corin there to see them before he passed. Plexo had stabilized the wounds for the trip, but Corin’s time was expiring.

  Just before daybreak, Creedith arrived in the rural community of Lator with Corin, who was half-conscience from his wounds. His plan was to move fast and get Corin’s family to safety under cover of night. He was aware that there was a high probability the Marcks had already arrived ahead of him and already seized Sarie and Crix or set a trap to capture Corin as he arrived.

  Creedith began carrying Corin slung over his shoulder. The effects of Plexo’s wound-mending inducer were beginning to decline, and he noticed a warm, wet feeling against his chest where Corin’s body rested against his.

  As he entered the seacra forest that surrounded Corin’s home, the sweet, organic fragrance that filled the warm air engulfed his lungs. Each step spooked up plumes of glow beetles that when startled, radiated red sparks for a couple of seconds, and then dimmed out again. The sight of the forest and the scent of the seacra brought out a rush of emotions from his youth of growing up in the native Andor wildlands of Troika. His hair stood straight up, and his heart fluttered for just a moment. He felt at peace for the first time in a long while.

  Creedith set Corin down next to a tree and started to climb. He ascended high into the branches, and gracefully jumped from tree to tree. He needed to keep off the ground and prevent lighting up the glow beetles below that would give away his approach. Luckily, the trees were old and the branches thick, so they did not make a large commotion as he traversed them.

  When Creedith reached the outer rim of trees that led up to Corin’s homestead, he stopped and pulled out an infrared image enhancer. Viewing the home, he located two humanoid heat signatures and several cooler signatures from inside.

  There must be Marcks on the premises already. He knew this was most likely a trap. I should not have left Corin by himself in his condition. Maybe I should go back to get him.

  Upon hearing a gurgling noise in the tree above him, he looked up slowly and observed a pair of blue, flashing lights. At the same time, a blunt object smashed down on his face. The shock from the blow felt like the bridge of his nose was shattered, and all he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears. He plummeted to the ground below, his back cracking as he smacked flat onto the grassy surface. While staring up and trying to maintain consciousness, little red, glowing specks flew up and out in every direction before going dark again. As he laid there in throbbing pain, there was a loud thump behind him and a faint mechanical buzz.

  Creedith squinted, having to clear the blur from his vision, and noticed the outline of a dark-shaded Marck standing there with his rifle pointing down toward him. The Marck paused for a moment, as though he was either relaying information or receiving information regarding his mission.

  The Marck placed his rifle up to his shoulder. “Where is the current location of the renegade Commander Emberook and the blue orb?” The Marck squelched out as if his voice was coming from inside a can.

  Creedith rubbed his eyes to get some focus from his still-dazed thoughts. “Let me up, and I will take you to him,” he responded.

  “Get up slowly,” t
he Marck replied, keeping the rifle trained on Creedith as he backed up a few steps.

  Creedith slowly pulled himself up from the ground. He grabbed the only object near him, a core seed from a rotted seacra. Having cupped the seed in his hand without the Marck noticing, he just needed to distract the Marck for just a second. Tossing the small but dense seacra seed to turn the Marck’s focus away from him should buy him the chance he needed.

  “So you guys must be the Marck Special Operations Force, huh? I’ll bet you wouldn’t last ten minutes in a skirmish against an equal number of UMO troopers.”

  The Marck gave no reply, and Creedith shook his head. Of course he’s not getting mad. It’s a senseless robot, and he could care less about his ego. Creedith walked forward in the direction away from Corin’s location.

  “Haahaahaa . . . You substandard carbon life forms would be eradicated like the vermin that you are!”

  Creedith was startled and stopped . . . confused. He turned to look at the Marck. Did he hear the Marck’s words correctly? Did it just respond to an attack on its ego?

  “Gret ebb brahh han kebbo getir blotk bor mi.” Creedith spouted off the ancient form of his native tongue, which translated to, “The ebb tree tiger behind you could easily dismember your metal frame.”

  The Marck turned his head slowly to look behind him. Creedith was surprised again that the Marck knew this form of Andor dialect. He quickly tossed the seed out to his side. It landed, making a rattle in the leaves, stirring up glow beetles. The Marck whipped its rifle toward the commotion as Creedith pulled his tectonic blade, and in one blinding swish, he removed the Marck’s head from its shoulders.

  The Marck discharged a flashing pop and gurgle as it dropped to its knees then fell facedown to the forest floor. The leaves crunching from both sides of him made him aware that the other Marcks were drawing closer. He picked up the Marck’s rifle and scaled up the tree nearest to him. He climbed as high as he could go before the branches sagged.

  The approaching commotion was directly below him, and he hugged the trunk of the tree tightly as he looked down the rifle’s sights. It was too difficult to see anything in the waning darkness, but the morning light briskly cracked over the horizon, and the shadowy silhouettes of two Marcks emerged from the void below. At that moment, the Marcks noticed him and opened fire.

  Creedith took a shot in the left arm and another grazed his face, causing an intense burn. He staggered back, almost falling from the branch before dropping the rifle. The pain enraged him. He pulled his blade while leaping down upon the two Marcks, and they crashed to the ground under his falling weight. With his tectonic blade, he dispatched one Marck before it could get back to its feet. The other Marck managed to get back up to a kneeling position with its rifle pressed against its shoulder. Creedith was fast, and he rapidly swung his blade down, smashing its metal head. The blow caused his blade to shatter from the impact. The Marck fell with its head compressed into its neck like an empty can.

  He looked toward Corin’s home in the distance and noticed three Marcks just outside the front entrance. Sarie was there as well with baby Crix cradled in her arms. Relief filled Creedith upon seeing them. Two of the Marcks were standing with rifles pointed out toward Creedith, and the third was holding a pistol at Sarie’s head. The skirmish with the last two Marcks must have alerted them.

  “Drop your weapons and step out into the yard with your hands atop your head,” one of the Marcks ordered.

  Creedith could hear Sarie pleading for the life of her child. She stood there weeping and holding her arms over his small, swaddled body. Her auburn, long hair blowing in the wind tussled over the baby’s face.

  “We will terminate these prisoners if you do not comply!” the Marck threatened.

  Not willing to take the chance with their lives, Creedith slowly stepped out of the forest and into the courtyard with his arms up. Just as he appeared out in the open, one of the Marcks fired a shot at him. He dropped to his knees. The shot was to stun the Andor, not kill. Two Marcks ran over to him, and one smacked the back of Creedith’s neck with the butt of his rifle, causing him to collapse. It then placed its foot against his neck, pinning him helplessly to the ground. The Marck’s heavy metal body leaned into his neck and gave a sharp stabbing pain that ran down Creedith’s spine as he struggled to breathe.

  “Where are Commander Emberook and the blue orb? Tell us, or we will terminate both you and the hostages.”

  Even Creedith’s thick neck was failing to take the extreme pressure of the Marck’s weight. He started losing consciousness, and his vision dimmed into darkness.

  “Noooo!” he could hear Sarie scream.

  The weight suddenly lifted from his neck, and he drew in a swift breath of air. He rolled over to his back and could see the shadows of the trees strobe blue, and rifle blasts screamed out all around him. He felt small pieces of heated metal shower upon him and burn through his uniform before sizzling into his skin.

  Sarie let out a blood-curdling scream. Creedith pushed himself up to his hands and knees to look in the direction of the scream. Corin was kneeling down with her in his arms and fragments of Special Ops Marcks littered around them. Creedith stumbled to his feet and hobbled his way over to Corin. Sarie’s face was charred black. Her hair and flesh burned down almost to the bare skull. She was motionless but still clenching the baby, who appeared to be unharmed and crying anxiously. She had clearly protected her child until her last breath.

  Corin brushed his hand tenderly across her face. This woman of his youth, the one he had pledged his life to, was gone, taken from the world. The pain he felt seared deep like a hot knife into his gut.

  “My love, no . . . no . . . you can’t leave. Crix needs you. He needs you, now more than ever!” He shouted with the last of his strength.

  Creedith had known Corin and fought alongside him for years and had always recalled him being stoic and calm until then. Corin pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Giving his last bit of life to embrace her one final time, he crumpled backward. Her body slid from his arms.

  Creedith squatted down and pulled the baby up into his arms. He knelt next to Corin and gently laid the child down at his friend’s side. The dying Tolagon turned his head slowly and moved his arm to caress his child’s soft brown hair. His eyes welled up, and tears poured down his cheeks. He looked up at Creedith.

  “Take the orb and hide it with the child. Someday, Crix will grow into a man, and when the time is right, the Tolagon will rise again! You must see to his safety.”

  “I will,” Creedith sorrowfully replied. His large eyes dropped, saddened. He watched Corin until daylight was in full bloom and the life had completely left the Tolagon’s eyes.

  As his friend took in his last shallow breath, a startling shriek came from Corin’s chest as the orb raised outward, abandoning its now lifeless host. The blue orb hovered like a spirit over Corin. Creedith grabbed it and hastily wrapped it with what remained of his cloak. He also unclasped a bracer from Corin’s wrist, knowing that it was an important piece that all Tolagons wore.

  Corin had let the secret of its purpose slip out to his old friend when Creedith had asked about it years ago. It was then that he told him that it was required to access Phantos Gate—the place where all Tolagon knowledge was kept. He could not allow this to fall into Marck possession, and it would need to be hidden along with Corin’s child. Knowing the Marcks would be upon him again, he departed en route for the land of Troika.

  CHAPTER 21

  A fter Bletto told them the story, Crix and Kerriah looked at each other in astonishment over such a tale. The details provided many answers regarding Creedith and helped only to further their resolve to find him. Crix slept lightly, recounting the story repeatedly in his head. Kerriah processed the information in an effort to find something useful to their task. Neither of them slept well, and their minds stirred until the time Bletto announced it was time to go.

  Returning to the queen’s lair,
after their last incident, felt like willfully aiding in their own destruction. It just felt wrong, and Crix’s stomach appeared to be the only thing that understood just how wrong as it tightened itself into a giant knot of anxiety. They already spent the first part of the morning slicing the Dispor tracking tags out from the backs of their necks, which ended up being immensely painful due to the dull blades and lack of nerve-blocking medication.

  “The scabs have receded back into their lair,” Bletto observed.

  Many of the glowing formations had been broken down from the force of the earlier frenzied swarm, and they all knew that there was no guarantee that the light would repel the scabs again. Still, this was a one-way trip, and they had to hope for the best.

  Crix and Kerriah both picked up chunks of glowing rocks and fastened the fragments to their bodies with strips cut from blankets.

  “They should be sleeping again around this time. I just hope they haven’t permanently overcome their fear of light after our last encounter,” Bletto stated, stroking his hands across the surface of the rocks.

  They reached the bottom of the queen’s lair and found the scabs silent and still. Bletto pointed to the small opening. It was near the highest point where the cavern turned to darkness, upward into an area of pure terror. Crix looked up, worry poured over him. He could not see the entrance, which was completely hidden by the layers of sleeping scabs.

  “So how do we get up there?” Crix whispered. Bletto smirked.

  “What do you think? You climb the scabs.” He grabbed hold of a scab attached to the wall and pulled himself up, and then grabbed another doing the same again. “You see, it’s easy. Remember, in a dormant state; they are mostly docile unless they sense being attacked or are feeding. Right now, the only thing you need to be concerned about is the queen. If she sees us, she will think we are a threat to her hive and most definitely will attack, alarming all the other scabs. Be careful when we get higher up, and move only as she turns away. Even better is to just watch me and move when I do.” Kerriah and Crix grabbed onto low-clinging scabs and started to climb, following Bletto upward into the living darkness.