It peered once again upon its mighty armada, its army of vengeance and darkness that would soon extinguish all the light from this miserable universe. It reached out again and once again the chaos washed over him. Even the fifty thousand slave girls it had sent to each of the ships, had only occupied its troops for a short while. Already it could sense their desires and lust were turning inward, upon each other, the fighting and bloodletting had already commenced, however only on a small scale. If the scarified man did not report in soon, the master would have to start expending more of its own powers, just to keep the anarchy from spilling over and consuming the entire fleet.
It shifted its gaze and surveyed the cavernous chamber itself, thousands of candles lit it, it no longer liked bright lights, in fact it didn’t even need the torches to see, as its vision had shifted and its human eyes were no longer even really necessary. It did enjoy the way the shadows danced over the grimy, tarnished walls though, they reminded the Master of something, yet that like so much else was gone now. The very air though was doused with the stench of incense and rotting flesh. It could also sense the dark energy that seemed to undulate and swirl around the room, like the tendrils of mist from a campfire caught upon the wind.
The vast mound of bodies, almost crested the doomed ceiling, evidence of the arcane rituals, it had been conducting to help it channel its gifts. There was a time long ago, when the sight of so many cadavers would have disgusted the Master, it almost felt repulsed that it had once been so weak, that was why it had lost.
As its consciousness stretched out and traced slowly over the dead and dying. The voice returned and with it the sliver of sentiment, empathy, a sense of sorrow, for all this death and misery.
Once again Michael stands over the bodies of his family, the shovel in his hand. The least he can do now is give them each a proper burial it is what his wife would have wanted. He looks again at the tiny, frail figures of his children and he feels tears sting his ashen cheeks.
He never sees or hears the stranger approach, there is just the voice, deep and guttural as if it is more of a beast than a man. “Bring out the dead!”
Michael turns and through the vapour, he sees a small, feeble, crooked man, his twisted frame covered in a thick black cloak, the hood of which is pulled so far forward that only the barest outline of his features is visible.
“What do you say old man?” Michael managed to cough, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion.
“Bring old the dead!” The old man repeats as he stops, he produces an intricately carved walking stick from behind his back and leans on it wearily now.
Michael, ignores him and returns to the grim, task at hand, he grips the spade tightly until his knuckles go white.
“Bring out the dead!” the old man rasped, yet again.
Michael swung round, his anger boiling over, “Will you shut up you old bastard.” He feels his grip on the shovel tighten and he knows what he wants to do. Fury now erupts within his soul and he strides forward the spade brandished as a weapon.
The old man does not move, or even flinch. Instead, from the shadows that encompass his facade, Michael almost thinks that he sees a sneer. “That’s right Michael,” The voice has shifted now, it is more like a hiss, as if the old man’s tongue is forked. “Bring out the dead!”
Michael stops in his tracks, as if some unseen power, has hold of him, he tries to move but is powerless. He tries to speak but the words simply get caught in his gorge.
The old man hobbles forward slowly, “I have been watching you for some time, seen how you have riven a deep hole within this Empire. You have managed to do what no one else has even come close to, you have shown a weakness in humanity.”
Michael tries again to move, yet it is as if some invisible hands hold him back, he feels a burning sensation on his arms, he glances down and sees his own skin begin to burn, and blister. Again he tries to scream, yet he has no air in his lungs.
“You see,” The old man whispers as he draws ever closer. “The power that I possess, it can be yours too, the power to smite down the enemies that have taken everything from you. Taken your family, your planet, your freedom and they will take your life soon.” The old man is almost next to him now and the stench follows, like meat left out too long in the sun.
“I will grant you the power to destroy this Empire, to slay all those that have caused you pain,” The old man crooned. “You will be like a cleansing fire, scorching the universe clear of humanity,” The voice dropped to little more than a murmur. “I only ask one thing from you, to give up everything you are, to give yourself over to the power. If you do this then I will give you all you need to set this Empire aflame.”
Michael found his head forced to turn towards his families bodies, he tried to shut his eyes, however the unseen fingers hold them open.
“Look at what they took from you, now I stand here ready to give you the power to seek your revenge.”
Michael feels the grip on his loosen and he wilts to the ground. He fights and claws for breathe.
“That’s it just breathe in and out the pain will pass,” The old man says almost softly.
“What are you?” Michaels manages to splutter, between gasps.
The old man cackles, “That is not something that you need to know,” he shambles away and peers off towards the horizon, where, weighty mercury, storm clouds are gathering and forks of lightning ripple along it. The almost deafening clap, of thunder comes first and then the effulgent flash, which causes Michael to force his eyes closed tightly. “All you need to know Michael is that a great storm is coming and you can either, help it, or you can be swept up within it and destroyed.”
When the glare had past, Michael opened his eyes, cautiously. He took one final look at his family, at all he had lost, already he knew the answer and he knew what he must do. “I will do as you ask,” He muttered.
Once again the cackle is his answer, the old man keeps his gaze fixed on the tempest, a harbinger of all that is to come. “Very good, you will hear from me soon.” With that he sets off.
“What am I supposed to do?” Michael shouts.
“Bury your dead Michael, the rain is coming and so is the storm.”
CHAPTER TEN
PLANET FRESAL ONE
In the, overcrowded and hot Triage tent, Luke Telsieell ran his gloved hand over his bandaged shoulder, the pain killers had kicked in now, yet they weren’t as simply delicious as the opiates he had been given as a child after the incident with the boar. Although he was still too young to fully appreciate the euphoric effects of the drugs, he could still remember the soft dull in his senses, and the weightlessness. What he wouldn’t give for some of that right now.
As he tried to shift slightly, he could still feel the minor pull of the new skin, which had been grafted over the gaping wound. Part of him still couldn’t believe that he had actually made it through this far without being injured, three years without a scratch and then to be shot by one of his own goddamn troopers, a fucking replacement, as green as anything, and fresh in from the world.
“Shit!” he exclaimed quietly under his breath, that had been him not long ago, a baby thrown to the lions. Barely eighteen, straight from college, from the bed of a man he had fallen in love with to this war. He could still remember the judge, his round face, sweat running over the folds of fat, his last few strands of hair, pulled ridiculously over his head. The way he had sneered and smirked as he had read out the verdict, guilty of unclean acts and it was then he had given him the choice, it was as stark a question as one could ever get. To be put to death, by public hanging or to join the Marines and spend the rest of his life in the carnage of this never ending conflict. He allowed himself a thin, grin, what choice did he really have? You either die now or maybe live a little longer.
He had never thought his Brother would sign up though, that had truly shocked him. They had always been close, even when Luke had revealed his sexuality, something that was considered a sin by the pur
itans. His Brother had accepted him, he could remember him saying quite plainly as he always did, so much like their father before his own torment destroyed his spirit. “You can’t fight who you fall in love with.”
If it wasn’t for his kin he wouldn’t have made it, not through basic training, not through the first drop. He could recall it now as clearly as if it had just taken place, a cramped drop ship, buffeted by gusty winds, the stench of puke, sweat and piss all mixed together and the heat that could literally steal away all your resolve. Then the instance the doors opened and the sheer all-consuming terror that had accompanied it. His brother had literally dragged him from the belly of the vessel and carried him almost from that day till now.
Sure he was still scarred, everyone was, whether they choose to admit it or not, how could you not be when you faced death every minute, of every day. When you saw your friends blown apart and die, so far from anywhere that you would call home. Yet you had to handle it, had to learn to cope with it or else it would eat you up, he had seen it happen, seen grown men and women consumed fully by the horrors. That was no way out either, you weren’t given any counselling or help, you either ate a bullet yourself, or one of the purity officers would do it for you. Battle fatigue as it was once known, was bad for morale and couldn’t be tolerated on the front line.
He did the best he could to live with it, what else was he going do? The guilt came again though, as it so often did, worming its way inside him, like a maggot through a rotten apple. He may have accepted that, this was to be his life, for as long as he lived, yet the longer he fought, the more he realized that he would have to find a way to get his Brother out of here. He would never say anything of course, Simon had never been like that, even when their Mother had been taken sick, with the sores and their father had crawled into the bottle. Simon, the lumbering gentle giant, had simply gotten on with it, cared for their mother, and run the farm, to pay for the few days a week they could get her to the hospital, and at least have some treatment. Obviously they would never be able to find the money, to save her, but Simon had at least made sure she would be comfortable. He had never complained, never shown any outward sign of his pain or torment. That had always been his way, a quiet tower of strength, a man who never complained or moaned.
“BRO!” A familiar voice echoed and brought him back to reality.
Luke turned to see his brother come bounding over, his face set in a broad, warm smile. The way he used to look on Christmas morning, as they were both tearing the wrapping paper from their presents.
As he watched his older brother Luke could understand how literally no one could ever tell they were related, they couldn’t have been more different. Luke, was slight and wiry, a mass of taught muscles pulled over a small frame, and he had gotten all his looks from their mum, including the mop of straw coloured hair and blue eyes, while unluckily Simon had got his looks mostly from their dad a man who could never be called handsome. Yet he was still a striking man, whose features appeared like they had been chiselled rather than formed.
“How you doing Bro?” Luke asked with a sly beam, he always felt better when he saw the hulking shape of his brother, he knew it was selfish, however he was glad he was here with him.
Simon came over and slapped a paw on Luke’s head, “See that bullet didn’t hit that pretty boy mug of yours. You could do with a few scars, make you look like a man, then people wouldn’t always be getting confused.”
Luke chuckled and shook his head. “Fuck you man just because I was blessed with the looks and the brains no need to be jealous.”
“What do you mean the looks?” Simon lifted his arms up in mock enragement.
“I’m just being honest, you know that you’re the ugly one right.” Luke replied, using his good arm to slap his hand on his brother shoulder.
Simon grinned, “Hey don’t be hating on me, just because you fell from the ugly tree and literally hit every branch on the way down.”
“Nice one bro, did you think of that all by yourself, or did you get it out of a book.”
Simone wrapped his arm gently round his brother’s head and held him in a head look, “Now I know your hurt but don’t think that I won’t throw you a beating.”
“Ok, ok,” Luke pleaded. “I give up, you’re the one with the brains and looks.”
Simon loosened his grip, “Now that’s more like it.” He stepped back and surveyed his brothers injuries, his visage shifted, to concern. “So you’re really ok, just a flesh wound yeah?”
Luke nodded, “Yeah, it’s all good, just a straight through and through, it did leave a funny looking hole, but the docs just grafted some new bones in there and then some synthetic skin over it and dosed me up with some good stuff.”
Rage flashed in Simon’s eyes, “Fucking Separatists, another inch and that would have been it.”
Luke interrupted him, “Don’t get all crazy now, I’m good and actually it wasn’t even those dark hearted bastards,” he spat. “It was goddamn blue on blue, friendly fire can you believe that?”
Simon sighed heavily and shook his head, “Friendly fire.”
Luke found himself sniggering, “Yeah a fucking replacement, as green as you like, literally straight out of basic and he’s reloading his weapon. Leaves the safety catch off, as he chambers the first round, his finger slips and wham.” Luke pulled his hands apart in a simulated explosion. “Round just burnt right through my armour, like it wasn’t even there, all I could do was watch as it blew out a hole the size of a baseball in the front of my Kevlar.” Almost unconsciously he edged his hand up to the bandage, “I could literally fit my whole fist through it.”
“Nice!” Simon exclaimed.
“Yeah it was pretty nasty, anyway, a few medics found me luckily, stopped the bleeding and managed to get me back here and lucky for me they had some doctors and medicine.”
“Yeah you were lucky there,” Simon responded mournfully, his voice floating off.
“Yeah I mean, what’s better than surviving so I can fight more of this war,” he replied only half serious.
Simon fixed his gaze upon him and Luke could almost see his Father staring down at him. “Don’t you ever speak like that,” The anger clear in his voice. “You stay alive for as long as it takes for us to figure a way out of all this shit, you hear me!”
Luke just looked at his brother for a moment, when he spoke it was rasped, “Yeah I hear you bro.”
“Good, because Mum made me promise, that I would look out for you, so don’t make a fucking liar out of me.”
Luke glanced down at the ground and felt once again like he was but a child, being scorned for his misdeeds. “I said I’m sorry Simon,” He exclaimed, his annoyance masking his own remorse. “What the fuck else do you want me to say.” He arched his head and fixed his brother, in his stare, his eyes fully open. “I never asked you to do this, to join up. I never wanted it.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew that was a lie. He had wanted his brother to come with him and even now, as much as most of him, wanted to get Simon out of here, another and perhaps more vociferous part of him, still wanted his brother here to protect him. However selfish that may be.
Simon’s face lightened and his hand, gripped the cross tightly. Luke prepared himself for a torrent of abuse and rage, the kind of action his father had been quick too. Yet, Simon simply remained silent and eventually, his grip lessened. “I know you didn’t,” his voice balanced and still. “Even if Mum hadn’t made me promise, I would have come anyway, you’re my brother, what else was I going to do, let you leave and never see you again? Just get a message one day that you’ve died on some unknown battlefield somewhere, I couldn’t let that happen, as much as you’re an annoying, little shit sometimes.”
For a moment, Luke was going to interrupt, yet he thought better of it, to be honest, he was an annoying, little shit. His thoughts turned to religion, although their mother had been a woman of faith, she had never been taken in by the puritans and now it was still difficult to
see Simon bearing her cross so cripplingly. As if it contained within it the very essence of the mother they had both lost.
Simon continued, “But you’re also my brother and the only family that I have left.”
Luke looked up at his older brother, his protector, thinking back that was how it had always been. He had protected him on the farm, then at school from bullies, then from their mother’s illness and finally from their father, when his grief had forced him to drink and his soul had died. “I love you bro,” he said, no joking or mockery in his voice.
Simon ran his hand over Luke’s hair, “I fucking love you too, so that’s why you’re not going to get yourself killed, or anything stupid like that, at least not until we have both got out of here and found ourselves somewhere nice. Maybe by a nice beach somewhere.”
“Ok then it’s a deal,” Luke held out his hand.
Simon took it and shook it then with his free hand, slap Luke playfully across the face.
“Fucker!” Luke retorted, as he tried to lift up his damaged arm, but his muscles didn’t respond.
“Now take your punishment like a man,” Simon laughed.
“I’m a wounded man here, that’s not fair.”
Simon smirked, “well life’s not fair, little bro.”
Luke attempted to shift his injured shoulder, “when I’m back to full fitness you just better watch your back that’s all I’m saying.”
Simon gave a deep belly laugh, “yeah you and what army exactly?”
“Being serious now, you know that I could kick your ass if I wanted, it just that I never wanted to embarrass you like that.” Luke threw a couple of fake punches with his good arm.
“Ok then we can see when your better, I just can’t wait.” Simon rubbed his hands together in glee.
“You want to know the worst thing, this is my throwing arm as well, so no more football for me.”
“Well let’s be honest you’re not going to be much loss to the team.” Simon joked.
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 10