Soldier of the Legion sotl-1

by Marshall S. Thomas

  “Makes you wonder,” Coolhand said.

  “Certainly does,” Merlin added. “That means they’ve done a whole lot in a little more than…let’s see…eighty Veltran years, or just over a hundred stellar years.”

  “Several generations,” Snow Leopard said. “Considering the short life span of Andrion 2 mortals, nobody living here can remember when there were no exosegs.”

  “Snow Leopard, what does Command say about the history?” Priestess asked.

  Snow Leopard referred to a miniscreen. “The legends are full of doubletalk. The creatures are associated with falling stars, just as our first captive told us. They came from the Forest of Bones, and they carry their captives away living. There are legends about fearless Taka warriors going down into the hives and rescuing fair maidens. Unfortunately, Taka civilization destroyed itself long before the exosegs showed up, so there was nobody to write a competent history. But Taka history is another story-let’s not get into that. The point is that we’re hoping we’ll find something in the Forest of Bones.”

  “There should be something in the history,” I said, “some clue…something more than we’ve learned so far. How can a history leave out something so important?”

  “Yes,” Snow Leopard said. “There should be something. We’re debriefing everyone who might know. But nothing so far.”

  “What about Moontouch?” I foolishly asked. “Did Command get anything useful out of her? She’s a princess of the Dark Clouds and a priestess of the Book. If anyone in this worldwide lunatic asylum knows anything, wouldn’t it be her?”

  Snow Leopard hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Command was ecstatic when they found out about your princess.”

  Priestess stiffened and I wondered if Deadeye had broken his word and told more than he should.

  Snow Leopard continued, “Unfortunately, like so many other things on Andrion 2, it didn’t work out like we’d hoped. The lifies are convinced that she’s either completely insane, or she’s smarter than they are and is holding back. The general consensus was that it was probably a little of both.”

  That brought several low chuckles.

  With a completely straight face, he added, “Command also noted that she seemed quite…fixated on you, Thinker, and that if the right opportunity presented itself, you might be able to get more out of her.”

  It took Snow Leopard several attempts to bring the meeting aback under control. Psycho and Dragon took every opportunity thereafter to ride me about my “princess.” Worse, Priestess seemed distinctly unhappy.

  It took me two days to track Moontouch down. I found her in a tent of treesilk, attended by Taka warriors armed with spears. Cleaned up and obviously well tended-to, she was even lovelier than I remembered. She offered me tea, and lit some incense. I declined the tea and told her what I wanted. She agreed to take me to the Loremaster.

  Moontouch led us to a swamp and at dawn on the third day, we glided over its still dark waters in a Sunrealmer canoe. Eight of us shared the boat: Moontouch, myself, Dragon, Deadeye, and four Taka warriors, Moontouch’s Dark Cloud bodyguards. They rowed the long, slim, graceful boat, which had been carefully crafted from fine woods.

  Warm morning mists drifted past us. It was sultry and quiet. We could only hear the birds, crying out as they rose to meet the sun, and the faint liquid chunk of the paddles as we slid through the water. The eastern sky slowly lightened while the west remained a cold, dark blue. Tall watertrees filled the swamp, forming a tangled roof of dark foliage. It came to life, burning crimson and gold, flames of sunlight running from branch to branch.

  I leaned forward to speak to Moontouch. “It would be faster by aircar.”

  “It cannot be, Slayer,” she responded. “One must approach the Loremaster with respect. It must be in a boat, at dawn.”

  “Is it much longer?”

  “Soon, Slayer. Soon.” She had been saying that for hours. It had been a long night. I glanced at Dragon. He checked his tacmod. We knew our location exactly-in the heart of what the locals called the Swamp of Lost Souls. Fully armed, Dragon and I wore litesuits and A-vests. Our comtops hung from our U-belts. Sweat trickled down from my temples. It was going to be a scorcher. Deadeye wore camfax and the other Taka were in skins.

  We softly glided up to an ancient, massive pier of stone, now covered with moss and vegetation. A solitary pier in the heart of the swamp, jutting out from a tangled jungle rising from the mists. Ghost ships dock here, I thought.

  “We are here,” Moontouch informed me.

  The Taka tied the boat up at the pier, and we carefully climbed out. The pier proved slippery, moss and wet grass on crumbling slick stone. The overhanging trees muffled our voices. Dawn burned in the branches above us.

  We followed a footpath into the jungle. Eerie clacking noises monitored our progress, and strange jungle creatures hooted and whistled from the tangled canopy above. Dragon and I had our E’s slung over our chests, ready for instant use. The noises of the jungle seemed to meld together into a staccato harmony. I walked behind Moontouch. She wore a short tunic of fine white cloth, and carried a jeweled knife at her waist.

  “Here was Southmark,” she said, “proud citadel of the Golden March, city of many tongues, Queen of the Island Roads, Fortress of Flags. This was a great center of learning and culture.”

  She gestured off to one side. “The Imperial Library of Southmark rose there-four levels, with the knowledge of the ages. The history of my people from the dawn of time was stored here.”

  I could see only jungle, great ancient trees rising up from a misty floor. “What happened to Southmark?”

  “Southmark fell before the Horde,” she recited, “flying white flags. Golden walls and crimson streets, in the Year of the Storm. And Southmark was no more.”

  “What about the library?”

  “Burned to ashes,” she answered. “And the ashes scattered to the winds.”

  “Who were the Horde?” I asked. “Beasts?”

  “No. We are guilty. The Horde inherited all that Southmark had been. My own ancestors. They burned it all.”

  A few shafts of golden sunlight flickered through the forest roof, illuminating a ruined temple covered with vegetation. Burning history-I could not imagine a more heinous crime.

  “Do not grieve for Southmark,” she said. “Every nation writes its own end.”

  The dead city was cloaked in trees, the roots crushing the stones, merciless, relentless constrictors of living wood, shattering the past. We climbed crumbling staircases, hidden under a tangle of vines, then into the forest, trees rising in rows to either side of us up to a flowery jungle canopy flaming golden with the dawn.

  The Loremaster squatted on a shattered marble block before a small campfire, an old man attended by two young boys. Naked to the waist, clothed in rags, his leathery skin was burnt brown by the sun. He had a medallion at his neck, the same as Moontouch’s. He squinted at Dragon and me from a deeply wrinkled face, as if he had trouble with his vision.

  He offered us bark tea, a medicinal potion we knew to be clear and light and faintly stimulating. The boys produced stone cups, brown with age, and poured the brew from a battered kettle. It tasted slightly bitter. Moontouch made the introductions, and explained that we wanted to know about the origin of the exosegs.

  The Loremaster blinked at me with cold, black, animal eyes and slowly sipped his tea. He suffered from advanced age, a mortal’s disease-easily cured. To me, it was a horror from the Age of Chaos, and the worst possible way to die.

  The Loremaster spoke in a brittle, cracked voice. “Slayer from afar, you seek forbidden fruit. The lore of the past is sacred, and easily lost. We guard it like a treasure. Only with knowledge can you understand the past, and you have no knowledge. You are violence, blowing in from the dark like a rainstorm in the night.”

  I broke in before Moontouch could interrupt. I could deal with this tough old bird. “We come in the dawn, Loremaster, with respect. I want the knowl
edge to help your people-if we can understand the origin of the Beasts, we can kill them all and bring peace to this world. We have already stopped the Cult of the Dead. With your help, we can stop the Beasts as well. If you do not help, many more Taka may die.”

  “Peace,” the Loremaster said. He cleared his throat, and spat off to one side. “You will kill them all, for peace. Our destiny is to die. The Taka are not afraid of death.” He took another sip of tea, defiant.

  I decided to try the direct approach. “Where did the Beasts come from?” I asked quietly. The Loremaster held out his cup, and one of the boys poured in more tea. The boy was very pretty-smooth skin, clean hair-just like the other one. I wondered about that.

  The Loremaster sipped tea, and spoke, his gaze far away. “In the Year of the Burning Trees came the first of the falling stars. They fell into the Forest of Bones, and the night sky was red. The Woodmen went to see, but the Woodmen did not return. Then came the Beasts, touched by Death’s black hand, to seal our doom. And the stars continued to fall, and more Beasts came, stealing our people away. Such is the fate of our race. Doomed to die, we kneel before the Beasts.”

  I put down my tea, and glanced at Dragon. He did not seem overly impressed. I certainly would not want the Loremaster guarding my back during any disagreement with the exos. He sounded like a devotee of the Cult of the Dead-kneel before the Beasts! Kneel and die, better him than me.

  “Has anyone ever returned from the Forest of Bones?” I wanted to keep him talking.

  The Loremaster paused, and his eyes dimmed. “The warrior Longwalker, of the Grass People, returned from the dead with the virgin Starlight. He dared the Forest of Bones, and found his way with fire into the House of the Living Dead. He fought the Beasts and freed the virgin and raised the Phantoms of the March. They climbed to the sunlight, and left the dead behind, and visited the land of the living, and touched their mortal kin. And then, cursed by the Gods, Longwalker and Starlight journeyed together into the wilderness, into unknown worlds.”

  The Loremaster returned to his tea, his face expressionless. Interesting. Falling stars, and more falling stars. The House of the Living Dead I knew, having visited it myself. And he used fire-smart! Also necessary. Starlight must have been quite a girl. Yet somehow I doubted that Longwalker went in alone-he must have had a little help. Like the Taka equivalent of a CAT force. But something about the story bothered me.

  “What did Longwalker see in the hive?”

  “He found his way with fire into the House of the Living Dead. He fought the Beasts and freed the virgin and raised the Phantoms of the March,” the Loremaster repeated.

  “What does it mean, ‘the Phantoms of the March’?”

  The Loremaster’s face clouded over, impatiently. “The March of the Sun, Slayer. The Golden March, when the Men of the Sword carried their flags to the Southern Sea. This is the March-there is no other March.”

  “But what does it mean-Phantoms of the March?”

  “You have heard the Past, Starman. ‘He fought the Beasts and freed the virgin and raised the Phantoms of the March.’ I am only a Loremaster. I tell you the Past, as it was written. I cannot tell what it means. The Gods have the meaning-ask the Gods.”

  Moontouch appeared distressed that I was not satisfied with the Loremaster’s words. When we left him behind, she whispered to me, “Follow me, and trust me. I will take you into the past, and all your questions will be answered.”

  She led us to what was clearly a secret place, a crumbling temple hidden behind whispering trees and a collapsed wall of green mossy stones near where the Library had been. Her Dark Cloud escorts waited outside the wall, but Moontouch motioned Dragon and me to follow her.

  Deadeye waited with the others, but his face was dark. “Be careful, Slayer-guard your back!”

  Moontouch ignored him. I knew the problem-it was sacred ground, the temple of the virgins, and no Taka man would dare set foot within these walls. But the rules didn’t apply to Dragon and me, creatures from another world.

  A stone fountain stood, cold and dry, in a courtyard full of wild grass. It led up to a roofless building covered with wild flowers. Three silent Taka girls appeared from the shadows, blinking, wearing dark cloaks, golden slave necklaces at their throats. Moontouch turned, and spoke.

  “My sisters,” she said. “Children of the Book. We live here, in the past. You two are travelers from the future. Be wary of the road-watch your footing.” Her eyes darted past mine, expressionless.

  “And you,” I asked. “Are you also a child of the Book?”

  “I am an interpreter,” she responded. “I am the delegate from the past-I am the voice of the dead.” A shaft of morning sunlight played with her face-skin of golden silk, high delicate cheekbones, her eyes flashing like black diamonds, her hair rippling over her shoulders.

  The girls brought a black cloak for Moontouch. She slipped it on. Dragon warily watched the girls and the trees. One finger rested on the trigger of his E. I knew nothing would get past him.

  They apparently lived here, in a cold damp chamber that still had a roof. The floor was covered with pillows and blankets of fine woven cloth and delicate jeweled scale-work, but the bare walls rotted with age and moisture.

  The girls added some branches to a smouldering campfire in a corner, and wisps of blue smoke curled up to escape through a crack in the roof. An ancient slab of dark wood served as a table. The girls served a warm pink tea brewed from flowers, in tiny silvery cups. Moontouch raised her cup, and her eyes met mine.

  “May you return.” She swallowed the tea in one gulp. I did the same. It was light and fragrant.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Dragon asked, hesitating.

  “Try it,” I replied. “You want to live forever?” A private joke-Dragon had overused the phrase during our worst days in Hell. Dragon frowned, but downed his tea. The three slave girls gazed quietly at Dragon and me. Beautiful, tender children of the dark, blinking their eyes and wetting their lips with their tongues.

  “Did the Loremaster tell us everything?” I asked Moontouch.

  “Words,” she replied. “He is the fountain of words. He remembers all. He is the Book, and the History. He is the Master, and the Way. He looks into the past, and sees the future.”

  She did not answer the question, I noted.

  “What did you think of him, Dragon?” I asked.

  “I think we can do just fine without his help.”

  “Yeah, so do I,” I confessed.

  “Let’s just forget him, all right?” Dragon urged me. “This was not one of your better ideas. I don’t believe a word the old creep says.”

  But I could not forget the words. “Moontouch, tell me about the Woodmen.”

  “Cutters of wood, Slayer. They dared the Forest of Bones, when the stars fell.”

  “Can you tell me more about Longwalker, or Starlight?”

  A cloud seemed to pass over her lovely features. “There is no more to tell. He was a mighty warrior, proud and fierce and strong. She was a virgin princess, and her beauty shamed the sun. Together they defied the Gods, and stopped the world in its tracks. Now they are dust.” Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

  “The Loremaster said Longwalker ‘raised the Phantoms of the March’. What does it mean?”

  “Words,” Moontouch replied. “Words have many meanings. Believe only what you can touch. Come with me, Slayer! Into the past, into the dust and the dark. I want to show you my world. I want to show you the Book. The Phantoms of the March are all around us. Come with me, and face the past. You can raise them yourself-now!” Proud, defiant, she got up and hugged her cloak around her tightly.

  Such an invitation was not to be refused. I rose. Dragon started to get up, but the three slave girls put their slim arms around him invitingly-they wanted him to stay.

  “Dragon should stay here, Slayer,” Moontouch commanded. “We are only shadows, but he is alive. He should not risk the wrath of the Gods.”

 
; “It sounds shaky to me, Thinker,” Dragon said. “You should have some backup, and I’ll chance the wrath of the Gods.”

  “It’s all right, Dragon,” I replied. “It sounds interesting, but she doesn’t want you along. You stay with the honeys. I’ll see what it is, and I’ll squawk if I need you.”

  “She’s not all there, Thinker! You’d better be careful. Like Deadeye said, watch your back. You sure you don’t want me?”

  “I’m sure. The girls should keep you amused. But stay alert!”

  Dragon relaxed, and turned his attention to the girls. “Well, I’ll try to spread some goodwill. But keep in touch.”

  “Tenners.”

  A slick stone staircase descended into the cellars of the temple, covered with oozing green moss. Moontouch carried a torch of oil-soaked rags, just ahead of me. It smelled of ages long past, and things long dead.

  “If you fall into the past,” Moontouch warned softly, “you may never come back.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I replied. The staircase became circular, slowly coiling down into the black. I was conscious of the crackling of the torch, the grating of our feet on gritty wet stones and the drip of moisture from the ceiling. It was a lightless, dead world, cold and damp. Moontouch was my guide on this expedition into the past, a flickering shadow.

  The staircase led to a gloomy hexagonal room of thick columns and stone walls, an empty doorway in each wall. The torch spat and hissed, and black shadows leaped wildly all around us.

  “Which doorway?” I asked.

  “Three of six,” Moontouch responded. “Three of six, where the stairwell ends.” She paused at one of the doorways. She turned to face me, and a fiery river of light from the torch flickered off her face. Her features glowed like a mirage, hovering in the dark. “The others lead to death. Follow me closely.”

  A very narrow passageway led into the dark. I banged my head on the ceiling immediately, and had to crouch down to proceed. Moontouch proceeded ahead of me, with the torch.