To Tame the Sentry Being

by Michael Georgiou

  “Bahhh, I’ve known plenty of women in my day, but none I could stomach for more than a couple of hours.”

  Levy shook his head. “I trust you know the correct way to treat a woman, Ednon?”

  “I think so…” he said, eyeing the back of the smiling Abacus out in front. His true desires and wants had begun to feel entombed ever since the day that Ira had died, but as time passed by, and after hearing his grandfather’s love story, the chains of uncertainty felt as if they were beginning to loosen and he knew what it was that he craved above all else – and that was Amelia.

  They continued to walk through endless corridors until they reached an intersection, one gloomy passageway leading to the right and another to the left.

  “We go left, don’t we, Abacus?” Levy asked with unease.

  “I believe so…”

  “Why is this place so deep underground?” Ednon asked the three of them.

  “It needs to be hidden,” Abacus replied. “The military above all else must not know of our location.”

  “Does the military not know of these underground networks?” Ednon asked, thinking that in all the times he had previously visited Asterleigh, he had never heard about this place’s existence.

  “No. There are only a select number that know of this underground world. That is why, Ed, when we resurface, you must never tell a soul about this place.”

  “I won’t,” Ednon promised.

  “It is so hidden,” Abacus chuckled, “that apparently even I cannot remember its location.”

  “Then what do we-” Ednon began, before a new, deep, fourth voice interrupted him.

  “Abacus. Jung. Levy.” From out ahead, in the darkness of the corridor to the left, walked a tall man, bald-headed with black skin and wearing dark shades even though there was no sunlight to disrupt his field of vision. Ednon recognised this man. It was the one who had been standing next to Luther on the day of Ira’s funeral; the one who had given him the sweet.

  “And even the prodigal son, young master Ednon.” The man was enormous and intimidating, with no warmth coming from his exceptionally sonorous voice.

  “You are late!” he snapped, his attention on the rest of the Elders. “The meeting started over half an hour ago.”

  Levy twitched uncomfortably. “Sorry, Memphis. Time must have escaped us.”

  Memphis gave a snort as he spotted Jung, who was struggling to stand upright and whose eyes were noticeably going in and out of focus. “I think I could hazard a guess as to why you are late.” He pointed a finger at the old man. “It’s that one there, the one who embarrasses us whenever he finds it fitting, the old drunk.”

  Jung swayed back and forth. “Ha! You do not intimidate me, you trained dog, and neither does your master! Ira and I were planting the seeds of this Order while you were still sucking at your mother’s sagging tits!”

  “You planted the seeds,” Memphis agreed with a nod. “But now it has moved far and beyond both yours and Ira’s comprehension. You are now old and decrepit, and no longer belong here among us.”

  “Decrepit!” Jung lunged forwards, only to be restrained by the much younger Levy. “Come fight me, cretin, so we can see just how decrepit this old man is!” Ednon admired the man’s bravery, but he was certain if the exchange did come to blows, Jung would stand no chance against the younger, fitter and larger Memphis.

  “Are you really so uncivilised, Jung?” Memphis uttered, as a sinister smile grew across his face. “Anyway, I do not fight foolish old drunks.”

  “Jung, calm yourself!” Levy and Abacus continued to restrain the man.

  Jung brushed himself down. “Ha! I have better things to be doing… you can tell the short prick that he can blow me!”

  “What are you saying, Jung?”

  Jung spat upon the ground. “I’m saying I quit this facade of an Order! I should have done it long ago, when it first started to be infested with this type of parasite!” He pointed aggressively towards Memphis, whose smile had not wavered. Jung began to walk away, but before doing so, placed a hand upon Ednon’s shoulder.

  “If Ira knew what had become of his teachings, he would be turning over in his grave… ” Jung murmured, levelling his head down to match Ednon’s eyes. “I pray that when you find out what we are, what we have become, that the nightmares do not forever haunt you. As they have with me…” and with that he stumbled, banging into the walls, making his way back the way they had come, singing drunken old songs, with nothing but the darkest of sorrow emitting from his trembling voice.

  “Well, gentlemen, we have a meeting to get to and the others are waiting,” Memphis said, undeterred by the scenes that had occurred.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Ednon said, apprehensively, looking over at the sad sight of Jung’s distant figure.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, Ed. Jung has always been one for theatrics.”

  “It doesn’t sound much like theatrics… he seems genuinely sad.”

  “Gentlemen!” Memphis uttered assertively, once again gaining their attention. “We really must be going. Luther gets quite displeased when he is forced to wait…” and with that he began leading the way down the corridor to the left, with Abacus and Levy following suit. Ednon gave another glance to see if he could spot Jung, but the singing had completely died away and he could no longer make out his figure. With deep breaths in, he followed Memphis and the others.

  His thoughts lost in the continuous intersections and corridors, Jung’s words echoed in Ednon’s mind. He was beginning to feel uneasy about what it was this Order did. Why would the way they were now cause Ira to turn over in his grave? Questions ran through his brain; they were racing so fast that he tripped over his own feet after not paying attention to his footsteps. Why did Ira never tell him of this place? If he was so proud of what he had achieved throughout his lifetime, then why not tell him? At least once? He considered the fact that he had not known a great deal about his grandfather, not the man he used to be anyway. Something does not feel right, he thought to himself, looking around the damp, bleak, vermin-infested area. This was not where he would expect members dedicated to pacifism to meet. Something about this place, so far underneath Asterleigh’s surface, seemed evil, intimidating and far from welcoming.

  After walking a few hundred yards more, they came across a locked door. As Memphis was leading, he knocked on it with three loud thuds. After a moment of silent waiting, the door creaked open and another unfamiliar face was staring back down at him. The stranger peered down at Ednon before uttering, “This way, gentlemen.” Nerves jangling, Ednon followed Memphis and the others inside.

  The room was large and lit by candles upon each of the walls. Strangely marked red flags hung from the ceiling, dangling above an enormous round wooden table where the other Elders sat. All their eyes fixed upon him as he timidly made his way over. There were fourteen of them, including the three that he was with, each older than the last. It appeared that beside himself, Abacus was the youngest among them. In the most prominent of seating positions sat the especially small Luther, who, much like Memphis, was wearing dark shades even though there was no natural light to be found within the murky room.

  Luther stood up, only gaining an inch or so in height. “Master Ednon! We were just talking about you. How have you found life in the capital?”

  Awful, he thought silently. “It’s fine,” he responded, worrying over just what they had been saying about him.

  Luther nodded his head. “Good… good… do sit.” He motioned towards four vacant seats around the table.

  “Jung has gone home, Luther,” Memphis informed him, sitting down in the empty seat to Luther’s right side.

  The short man continued to grin. “Perfect. We do not have to fetch a seat for young master Ednon then… ”

  “Sit down beside me, Ed,” Abacus whispered, as he pulled out two chairs di
rectly opposite Luther.

  “I will talk to you both afterwards.” Levy gave Ednon a slight pat on the shoulder.

  He knew some of the faces as he gazed around the room. Stall owners from the Asterleigh market, teachers, and even a face he recognised as being that of a priest were all staring towards him as he nervously sat down, in anticipation of finding out what this secret Order’s aspirations truly were. However, it appeared he would have to wait, after Luther stated to the group, “As this is Ednon’s first meeting, why don’t we let him take the floor…” and he could feel all eyes upon him once again.

  He cleared his throat in nervousness and calmed himself for a moment. “I think we should assist the people of Asterleigh as much as we can after these recent attacks, and do everything within our power to try and find those responsible.”

  A stunned silence engulfed the room. All eyes were no longer upon him, as the Elders looked at each other in bewilderment. It did appear, however, that he had said something quite humorous, as the room began to laugh; even Abacus beside him was in loud hysterics.

  “Oh, young master Ednon,” Luther chuckled, trying to regain his poise. “You are quite the comedian! This is something, I am sure, that Ira did not pass down to you.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, not understanding what had caused the ruckus. All laughter died down as each of the members saw from Ednon’s eyes and demeanour that he had, truly, not intended his last statement to have been taken as a joke.

  “Ednon?” spoke up the man he recognised as being one of the priests of Asterleigh. “You do know what the Order’s goals are, don’t you?”

  “Yes, to stop the war.” Each of the Elders looked at him and, within a moment, he came to an inner realisation. “You did the attacks…”

  The eyes of the Elders shifted nervously and, unlike previously, they would not make eye contact even for an instant.

  “Why?” he asked, turning to Abacus. He then faced Levy, whose eyes represented shame.

  “Ed, do you know what it means to be a pacifist, a true pacifist?” Luther asked, all previous amusement having escaped his voice.

  “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me…”

  “Pacifism is doing what we can. No…” The fat, short man rethought his statement. “What we… must do, to end the hardships brought about by war and conflict. So the innocent may flourish in a world that does not know these types of horrors.”

  “That girl was innocent!” he shouted, his mind on the image of the dead child he had seen lying in the streets outside Mundie’s Tavern. “She was only five years old.”

  Luther sighed. “Ah, yes… the young girl was a misfortune… caught up in the wickedness of this world.”

  “Not the wickedness of this world. Only the wickedness of your actions.”

  Luther, not being able to think of a rebuttal, stayed silent, giving Ednon time to address the entirety of the room.

  “You are terrorists,” he told them firmly. “You are terrorists and nothing more.”

  “Ednon,” Levy addressed him sadly. “We are doing what we must to make this a better world.”

  “Killing children makes this a better world?”

  “You must consider the bigger picture, Ed. We have a plan to end all of-” Abacus began, before Luther interrupted him in a booming voice.

  “We are the fifty per cent!” the pear-shaped man exclaimed, rising to his feet. “There are reportedly over eleven million of us inhabiting this planet! A great divide has begun, boy! A divide started by men like your grandfather. We represent the other half!”

  “What is it that you plan on achieving with these bombings? How could this possibly end the war?”

  “It’s simple,” Luther continued, the drama still in his voice. “We attack the military while they are weakened: most squadrons have made their way east, dictated by the whims of the Supreme Leader. Whilst they are gone, we attack the bases, barracks and the taverns that the military frequent. Then, when the time is ripe, we rise and force the Supreme Leader out of hiding. And then we start planning for the future of the human race.”

  “Which is what?”

  “All the Alpelites desire is Asterleigh, young innocent Ednon. After we hand over their city, there will be no more need for bloodshed. There is plenty of land here for us, all the Alpelites wish for is to return to their home underneath the clouds of their watching God.”

  “My brother is on that campaign east. What will happen to him?” Ednon asked, feeling apprehensive.

  “We have friends throughout this land,” Luther continued, not directly answering his question. “In Lowton, Roxton, Brascote… in all villages and towns neighbouring the border. When the time comes, we shall take control of the borders and lock the military campaigners outside these lands. They can submit to our new rule or die in the wilderness.” The short man sat down, impressed by himself, for the way he had quietened Ednon’s verbal attack. “Do not worry, lad. As I told you before, the New Age is coming. As our dissonance reaches its most violent and bloody, it shall come, and then a glorious light shall engulf these lands and peace will be known. Led by people who have been entrusted with safeguarding understanding and co-existence.”

  “People like you…” Ednon stated, staring into the blackness of the man’s shades.

  Luther gave a shrug. “Why not? All previous members from the golden generation of our Order have either retired, drunk themselves into a stupor or died. Someone has to lead humanity into its glorious future, so why not me?” And with that, he leaned back into his chair and removed his dark-tinted shades to reveal his eyes or, perhaps more precisely, his lack thereof. His eye sockets were sewn completely shut; whatever had happened to the man’s eyesight appeared to have happened under the bloodiest of circumstances, as they were mangled and torn, as if they had been viciously burnt.

  “In this life, you reap what you sow,” Luther continued. “The New Age will soon arrive… and with it… our salvation.”

  Is this what you wanted, Ira? Ednon thought, gazing around the room of old self-proclaimed Elders and murderers. Is this what you would have wanted from me, to be a part of this world, so hidden underneath the surface? Did I truly know you at all, or were you always fake in my presence? Fake, like the compassion of a short, chubby, blind man, preaching a New Age of a world already long gone. The fate of which was out of all their hands, be they belonging to a pacifist or anyone else.

  14

  The Forlorn Angel

  “Morning,” said Bora, looking up after washing its face in a nearby stream, having sensed Syros’s presence. The suns were out once again; the storm from the previous night had only lasted a short while. Songbirds were filling the air with blissful sound while the two of them found themselves in a secluded, grassy, life-filled area in the depths of the mountains.

  “Morning…” responded Syros, sitting down underneath an adjacent oak tree, overlooking the wounded creature.

  “How was your sleep?” Bora asked, standing up on its feet. Sensing the gloomy mood emitting from Syros, it continued, “Nightmares?”

  Syros scoffed. The nightmares did not bother him anymore; he was used to them, for they had come in an abundance over the last couple of days. What scared him was that when he awoke from his sleep and entered into the realms of reality, he seemed to still be within one.

  They had escaped in the middle of the night, stepping over the lifeless corpse of Mercivous, whose eyes, even though dead, Syros could swear followed him as he escaped from the blood-filled hut. He never would have expected that the first life he took would be one of his own species. And now, due to this, he ran a traitor, in a constant hope of escaping the insanity that had once plagued that small Alpelite village. Moving through the darkness, the wounded Bora leaning on his shoulder, they had found a small cave. And in the little sleep he’d had, he dreamt of horrific images and blood-filled scena
rios. He dreamt of his old home in Jovian aflame and walking inside the smoke-filled interior to find his brother’s body lying motionless, his eyes, much like his ex-comrade’s, never failing to leave him.

  “Do not worry, human,” Bora said, crouching over the rapidly flowing stream while it continued to wash its face. “I had some nightmares of my own.”

  “You dream as well?” Syros asked. He had never thought about this much. Bora had appeared to have been sleeping soundlessly after he had awoken. Having failed in leading his own mind down more peaceful paths, Syros had instead stayed awake, newly bloodied blade in hand, watching the entrance of the cave, waiting to see what type of horror would befall him next.

  Bora’s expression indicated that it had been insulted by Syros’s questioning. “Of course I dream, human.” It stood and outstretched its muscled limbs. “We all dream.”

  “I do have a name… ”

  The creature, ignoring what he had said, started to make its way towards him, limping slightly but very noticeably. “So, human. Where do we go now?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. You want to live, don’t you?”

  Syros thought this over; he wasn’t too sure any more. He was leaning towards the idea that perhaps death truly would be what was best for him. Everything had left him; Ira was dead, and his friends Saniya and Torjan were far away doing their own mission. And Ed – he had no idea how his sibling was doing, how he was feeling, how he was coping with life after their grandfather’s death, if he even missed his older brother. Perhaps it was better he was out of Ednon’s life. He had only been a disappointment; he should have been a better sibling. But now he wouldn’t have the chance, for if he returned he would surely be executed for the murder of Mercivous.

  The Alpelite had a look of worriment upon its face. “You know, human… I have only known you a short while, but you seem like a most moody type. Why not try cheering up?”