Sunlord

by Ronan Frost

  Josian strained his eyes, and just when he was about to give up, he caught a flicker of movement in the shadows. "You're right. We'll go around the back, then."

  Locantar agreed and they stood from their refuge. Josian moved as silently as he could, easing his weight upon his feet before stepping forward. Thankfully the ground here was spongy and grassy and no leaves crunched underfoot. Wild thoughts ran through the young man's mind; this all seemed so unreal, so disjointed from reality. He saw himself from a distance, a former farmhand dressed in black pawing his way through night shadows, aware that one false move would bring a knife to his throat. Time seemed suspended as he placed one foot before the other, watching as the shadow that was Shata's tent loom past. He suddenly froze as Locantar laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder. He dared not move or even breath - even his heart seemed to be beating way too loud.

  Locantar's black robed arm extended and pointed ahead. The slight rustle of the coarse fabric was the only noise the old blind man made.

  Josian tried intently to pierce the shadows but finally gave up. The shadow of the tent effectively cut off all moonlight, creating absolute darkness. Then his ears caught a sound, a faint shifting sound as somebody moved in the dark. Then his eyes discerned a shadow in the shadows move. As it moved Josian saw it was a humanoid form, resolving itself from vague shadows around. Now that his eyes had seen the shadow he could easily tell that a guard waiting not two metres from where they stood.

  Josian was at a loss. Shata must have become paranoid about protecting his precious gas - putting on nearly double the usual amount of guards. Josian was at a loss; the thought of sneaking up to the man and using his knife to silence the guard flashed briefly in Josian mind but he rejected it hurriedly, disgusted with himself. The teachings of Religion were far to strong to let that sort of thought run wild. To kill would bring a shame and sin so great that his very soul would be in danger.

  But if they couldn't kill the guard, what could they do?

  Locantar seemed to have an idea. The old man walked forward as if strolling down a street in broad daylight. Josian was still amazed at how easily Locantar found his footing in the darkness and found it fascinating that night and day were meaningless to the blind man.

  Locantar's approach was silent as it was speedy. In a few seconds he was directly behind the sitting guard. Josian held his breath as he heard a muffled thump as the guard's body hit the ground, unconscious. Everything as silent for a few more seconds, then finally Locantar came back again.

  "What did you do?" asked Josian in an awed, almost horrified whisper.

  Locantar quickly dispelled any suspicious. "He will sleep and awake much refreshed in the morning. Now, is this the tent?"

  Josian nodded numbly, suddenly aware of the power the old man wielded. He shook his head, flexed his fingers, then pulled out his long fishing knife. He squatted down and grasped the coarse canvas in his hand, and with the other pushed his knife through it.

  The noise was like a peal of thunder to their sensitive ears. Each individual strain broke before his knife, popping like gunshots in the darkness. Josian winced and continued on, hurrying in order to get the task over with. He moved efficiently for a few more minutes to carve a triangular flap opening in the canvas of the tent. Once done, he gestured to his left.

  "Shata's tent lies there," he whispered. "I presume the chemist is in here."

  Locantar nodded, his milky white eyes glistening like pale orbs in the darkness. He followed Josian as he put himself through the narrow triangular opening.

  Josian placed his foot down on grass mat, then the other. He moved slowly and surely, moving away from the gap in the tent to allow Locantar some room. He kept his breathing to a ragged whisper, his wandering eyes futile in the darkness. The air was still here, and he immediately sensed the confines of the small tent. Then he heard Locantar step in beside him. The blind man stood erect for a moment as if probing his surrounds, then strode boldly forward. Josian winced as he imagined Locantar stumbling into glass jars and bottles, setting them crashing to the ground. But nothing came, and Locantar found his way without difficultly. Seeing his chance, Josian followed the old man's footsteps as they weaved through the rows of makeshift desks. He almost jumped out of his skin when he sensed Locantar's mouth at his shoulder. The latter's lips came a bare millimetre from Josian's ear, the words nothing more than breath.

  "On the count of three, push your hardest on the desk to your right. Then, when you hear the crash, race for the hole in the tent and get away as fast as you can."

  Josian nodded numbly. He was about to reply when a muttering broke the darkness. Both froze in their shoes as movement came from near the back of the tent, as if someone was turning over in their bed. The dreamlike muttering was punctuated by a sharp snort as the occupant was suddenly awake.

  Josian felt a sudden urge to drop to the ground, to run away, but Locantar held his shoulder tight. As rational thought returned Josian realised Locantar was right - they had to stay frozen and not move a muscle.

  Josian held his breath and shut his eyes as he heard the sleeper grumble some more. He suddenly fell back in fear and surprise as an oil lamp was lit, casting an orange hue over the inside of the tent. Josian looked, his eyes squinting against the sudden light, and saw the bleary eyed chemist with the lamp held high. The latter's eyes widened in surprise, sleep forgotten immediately, as he caught sight of the intruders.

  Locantar moved like the wind, covering the small gap separating the two parties in an instant. The chemist dropped the lamp in surprise and it rolled away, casting dancing shadows over the roof of the tent. A strangled yelp left the chemist's throat as he recognised Locantar's form. "You..."

  Locantar smiled quietly and nodded. "I come from the Church to purge you of your sins."

  The chemist had retreated further back along his bed, clutching his fists to his chest. "I have done nothing," he cried.

  Meanwhile, Josian looked around helplessly, expecting a guard to come crashing through the door at any moment.

  "Your work will bring a foulness to your soul unsurpassed by any other," muttered Locantar. "After your death you shall face the fires of your sin."

  These words had an obvious effect on the chemist. Evidently his conscience had been working on this dilemma like a dog chewing at an old shoe. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt about his actions. Only Shata's persistent demands kept the poor stricken currach working, partly in fear and partly in awe of the powerfully persuasive leader.

  But now Locantar's words brought all his uncertainty to the fore.

  "You disgrace your fellows," continued the blind man. "You bring shame to the currach race."

  The chemist was almost crying now, his insectile eyes wide with fear as Locantar's skeletal hand reached forward. The chemist's heart missed a beat as the hand pushed against his face.

  "Repent and be free," muttered Locantar.

  The chemist flailed wildly at the touch and a terrible scream left his mouth. An instant later Locantar pulled his hand free, and the chemist was silent, zombie-like.

  The scream had alerted all the guards in a twenty mile radius.

  "We've got to go now," said Locantar calmly.

  Josian nodded, but before turning to leave heaved his weight against the desks. With a crash the glass equipment smashed into a thousand shards. He pivoted on one foot and lunged out with the other, pushing the second long table down. Noxious smells immediately filled the small tent and Josian leapt free.

  Another moment and three guards rushed into the tent, their long bladed halberds lowered threatenly.

  But Locantar and Josian had already disappeared out the back of the tent. Josian leapt through the small triangular opening and hit the ground smoothly, leg muscles tensing to take up the landing. Another moment and he was racing, running for all his was worth behind Locantar.

  The old man moved quickly and silently, and Josian had to push himself to his physical limit just
to keep up. They sprinted past stunned guards before the latter had even known what happened.

  Sleeping forms suddenly loomed out of the darkness before Josian's galloping feet, and he had no time to think. Before he knew it, he was leaping through the air, jumping over the top of the slumbering Leaguesmen.

  But it seemed word was passing quicker than they could run. Josian had to swerve aside as multiple lanterns lit up before him, forcing him to take a route through the brush. He suddenly found himself separated from Locantar!

  He paused for a brief moment, confirming the old man was nowhere to be seen. He took off once more, deciding the best he could do was get away while he could. He kept close to the cliff and away from the campfires as more and more of the currach Leaguesmen stirred. He rushed past a clump of trees, leaves snapping into his face, mere centimetres separating his head and a passing branches.

  He was forced to stop as shout echoed in his path. Josian dove, hugging the ground in attempt to conceal himself. Another shout came, this time to his left. He turned his head and saw a lantern bobbing closer.

  Two Leaguesmen converged, shouting to each other in the confusion, trying to figure out what the disturbance was. Josian crept forward, but halted immediately as the two currach seemed to head directly towards his place of concealment. He prayed quickly and buried his face into the humus, waiting with his heart in his throat.

  The sound of footsteps grew louder. Now he could pick up snatches of the conversation.

  "...somebody's killed the chemist-"

  "-the old man Shata caught-"

  "..ordered us to search-"

  The conversation disintegrated as the Leaguesmen passed, jogging with lanterns held high not two metres from where Josian sprawled.

  Could that be right? he thought. Could the chemist be dead?

  He had no time for further consideration. As soon as the Leaguesmen had passed he was on his feet again and running for all he was worth. His thin body quickly tired but he pushed on regardless, the corner of his eye catching flickering movements of light. He ran until he fell exhausted into a clump of brush. He had ran perhaps four hundred metres and all sounds of pursuit had died behind him.

  He gasped as a hand clenched his shoulder. He sat upright, eyes wide, then relaxed as recognition dawned. "Locantar! You made it."

  The old man nodded gravely. When he spoke his breathing was ragged, as if every breath tore at his lungs. "I got away," he agreed.

  Josian asked the question that had been bothering him. "Did you kill the chemist?"

  Locantar laughed mildly, and patted Josian on the shoulder. "No, I would never do such a thing. No, all I did was place my hand on his forehead, and his mind did the rest. He obviously perceived me as one of the Church, and his guilt was so great he forced his own mind into a twist. I would say he will recover, but will have complete memory loss."

  "You did all this with one touch?" Josian was incredulous.

  "No, the chemist did it himself. All I did was act as a trigger."

  Josian was silent, and simply closed his eyes and felt himself slipping away, exhausted. So much had happened in these past few hours - it was almost as bad as the first night the Sunlords had come from the stars.

  He opened one eye a crack and saw Locantar had regained his footing, his black-clad form invisible against the back drop of night. As he watched the old man seemed to straighten his shoulders with new purpose.

  "Where are you going?" croaked Josian.

  Locantar turned, his eyes gleaming in the starlight.

  "To turn the children of Abas back to the path."

  Josian was instantly alert. "You're going back?"

  The blind man nodded gravely. "Now is the time when my words will be most effective. Shata's camp is in disarray, confidence is low. The people are beginning to wonder if they are safe now that the illusion of solidarity is shattered."

  "Illusion?"

  Locantar nodded. "Shata draws them together by confidence, they feel safe and protected in the League. Previously, they thought nothing could touch them. Now I shall preach to them and show them the error of their ways. The currach are not a warlike people."

  Josian slumped back, shaking his head. "I still can't believe you're going to walk back into that swarming nest."

  "You shall remain," motioned Locantar. "I need to go alone."

  Without another word the black figure had disappeared as if sucked into thin air.

  The only sounds Josian heard was the whispering of the wind through the trees.

  * * *

  The light of pre-dawn cast a pale hue over the land, lighting the plainlands and the surrounding cliff face in a soft light. The sun had not yet broken the horizon, low clouds hugging the mountains in the distance.

  The camp moved with confused activity. Leaguesmen gathered in groups, trying to piece together the happenings of the night. Rumours circulated thick and fast and Shata was nowhere to be seen. Some suggested that even Shata himself had been killed.

  Locantar stood on the lip of the cliff high above the plainlands below, the entire camp spread out beneath his vantage point. He leant on a branch peeled of the outer bark, the staff giving him support.

  Immobile, Locantar's form took on visibility as the sun dawned before his white eyes and at last somebody below noticed him. In seconds word had passed, fingers pointing upwards at the proud old man atop the cliff. Although small with distance they could see Locantar stood over them with authority, like a figure head.

  Four hundred pairs of eyes turned up as one to watch him, dropping what they were carrying and stilling their conversation. Another moment and a hushed silence settled over the camp.

  Locantar did not know, but Shata-Bera had once stood as he did, almost on the same spot. Yet there were subtle differences; Shata had spoken with the glowing embers of the setting sun behind him and Locantar now faced the horizon where the first rays of sunlight grew. The currach below looked up with awe, deja-vu ringing through their minds as once again their attention was held by the commanding figure atop the cliff.

  "My people!" called Locantar, his voice strong. The wind had stilled, as if nature herself was holding her breath. "Now is the time for you to leave this place! The morning is the dawning of consciousness, the time for you all to realise your folly. Have you forgotten the teachings of Abas? How quickly you have all fallen - fallen lower that the Sunlords that hunt us. You all have dropped from the eyes of the Great One."

  A ripple passed through the gathering. Angry glances were passed, Leaguesmen muttering oaths beneath their breath.

  "But there is a chance!" rang the strong voice from above. "Leave now, and go back to your family, to your friends who await you. And those without family are free to visit the Church where we all shall draw from each other's courage."

  Many of those below scoffed immediately, and most turned away from the old man. Their lives had been in turmoil for the past few weeks, and they simply had no families to return to. They were alone in the world - that was why they had joined the League.

  Locantar sensed the crowd's reaction. "You shall all have friends once more if you would only open your heart. I can assure you once inside the walls of our city no harm shall come to you."

  A disgruntled muttering rippled over the Leaguesmen, a wave of conversation quickly spreading. Most cursed angrily, remembering the frustration they had felt when their farms, family and lives had been stolen from under their nose. The Church hadn't done a thing for them.

  Then, from the tents at the base of the cliff, Shata-Bera emerged. The leader unslung his rifle from his shoulder and gripped the barrel with his strong left hand. The Leaguesmen around silenced immediately and drew back like water beading from a duck's back. Shata strode forward and caught sight of Locantar's figure.

  "Beason, Kalsak!" he called to his guards. "Kill that man!"

  The two Karita dropped to one knee and swung the rifles to their eyes. Shata was the first to fire, his semi-automatic Sunlord rif
le blazing with yellow fire. Seconds later the Karita's fire erupted, adding to the tumult of shattering noise that echoed from the cliff. The Leaguesmen drew back, hands held over their ears, as wild explosions cracked the stillness of dawn.

  But Locantar's form did not seem affected. He simply raised his arms, his wooden staff held high, and spoke louder than the fire of guns.

  "I shall return," shouted the old man, his voice ringing across the plains. A wind picked up the hem of his cloak, making the black material billow out. "Take warning, and leave now!"

  Then he was gone, simply withdrawn back away from the edge.

  Shata cursed lividly and lowered his rifle, shouting his frustration. He ordered his Karita officers to scale the cliff, but in his heart he knew it was too late. He swirled, bringing the butt of his rifle around, striking a nearby Leaguesmen across the chin. The blow cast the unfortunate currach back, blood flying from the jaw.

  The crowd immediately drew back to give Shata room, the gap opening before him and closing behind as he strode through to the centre of the gathering. He held his rifle high in his left hand, shaking it angrily at the sky.

  "Close your ears to the mongrel!" he shouted once in the middle of the now silenced crowd. "He is nothing more than a worm! Now, return to your work - training starts now."

  The Leaguesmen drew back, dispersing slowly to go about the morning chores, faces reflecting confusion and uncertainty, suddenly not sure if they were doing the right thing.

  Shata's hunchback adviser, Mosata, scrambled to his side, his small eyes scrupulously scanning for any signs of defection.

  "Do you think the old fool may have gotten through to them?"

  Shata laughed and slapped Mosata on the back. "These currach are made of sterner stuff than that. These are the people who have narrowly escape death, and have seen the death of their fellows. So much so they are prepared to die. No, Mosata, these people are more firmly committed than that."